###“Two things define you: Your patience when you have nothing and your attitude when you have everything.” - George Bernard Shaw   *** #Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Please note: This feature has feedback requirements for participation. Please read the entire post before submitting.** To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is Patience! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘patience’. Many events—and people— in life require a delicate, patient approach. But not everyone is skilled in the art of patience. Think about those characters that are antsy, refuse to listen, and go charging through whatever the situation may be. What are the repercussions? How does the outcome change? What about those characters that push everyone to their breaking point, pushing all the right (or wrong) buttons. Are those around them able to still maintain some kind of calmness, or do they lose it all? On the other side, what about those that wish the world and/or the community in it harm? Those that simmer in silence and plot their revenge, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They could very well be friends and associates walking amongst the rest. These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * January 9 - Patience (this week) * January 16 - Meddling * January 23 - Grit   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** *** #Announcing a Brand New Feature for Completed Serials on Serial Sunday! I can’t express how delighted and honored I am to watch each of you grow and meet the challenges every week. Let’s face it, it’s quite a feat to create a world from scratch and write a serial! And finishing a serial is an amazing accomplishment. Over the last year, we’ve had quite a few writers cross that finish line. It’s something that the writers should be incredibly proud of—those still working on them and those who have already completed them. I started thinking about those finished serials and all the ones to come; I realized that a congratulatory post just wasn’t enough. I want to give you the chance to show off your hard work! And so I present to you...SerialWorm! ###What is a SerialWorm? Writers who finish their serials (with at least 12 installments) will be allowed to read their *edited* serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s Voice Chat. This is to celebrate your accomplishments, see how it reads once it’s altogether, as well as provide some additional motivation to cross the finish line. After the final chapter is read, there will be a Q & A with the author. Questions can be submitted/asked at this time. ###Serial Worm Rules: **A minimum of 12 installments will be required to read.** Serials will need to be broken up into multiple sessions, as with any Discord Bookworm. **Only one bookworm event will be held at a time (including non-serial Bookworms).** You may still submit your finished serial to get on the list. **You need to be available to read your own serial.** Readers will not be provided. **Your serial must have gone through significant, final edits after its completion. All ‘SerialWorms’ must be approved.** SerialWorm is not for live feedback or edits, but to share your accomplishment with others and read your finished product aloud. **Completed and edited serials may have a maximum word count of 1150 per installment, with no more than 2 additional installments (not posted to Serial Sunday weekly threads).** **Serials must comply with r/ShortStories content rules. No exceptions.** **Authors must have met the rules of the weekly post.** This includes two feedback comments every week, as well as meeting the deadline. Those who miss more than 2 weeks of feedback in a 12-installment period will be ineligible for SerialWorm. This is a privilege, not a right. **SerialWorm authors must be Certified on the discord.** You must be given final approval by Bay. You can request the ‘SerialWorm’ role at any time on the Discord to be notified of upcoming SerialWorm events. ###SerialWorm Q & A To add a little something extra to make it different from the weekly campfire readings, there will be a discussion portion. *This is not for feedback on the writing*, but more an elaboration/extension on the basic questions I pose to every author in the Completed Serial Modpost, with a few extras. This is the time to ask about their writing journey, challenges they faced during their Serial, etc. The discussion portion of the SerialWorm will be after the final chapter is read. Questions can be submitted to Bay over the course of the SerialWorm or asked on the day-of. ***If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on our Discord!***   *** *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/OneSidedDice   - - by u/bantamnerd   - - by u/VaguelyGuessing   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - Don’t forget to show appreciation to your fellow writers and from 2021! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Brodie stuffed his face like he never had before. To his left a massive minotaur was mowing down on some fish and chips. To the right, an ogre belched before placing an entire turkey leg inside his mouth. Both were only on their fifth dish and slowing down. Brodie on the other hand was just finishing his sixth, a peking duck, before moving onto his seventh, a large mound of poutine, and nothing was going to slow him down. There was too much riding on this competition for him to lose. As the first human to participate in the Heavyweight Consumption World Championship he represented humanity and it’s capabilities. He had the whole of humanity behind him, watching and cheering him on as he pushed the remains of a peking duck away from him and a waiter brought over a heaping, steaming pile of poutine. He snapped at the waiter to hurry as he chewed on the last bits of duck. The rules of the competition were simple and clear, eight dishes, first to finish all eight wins, and if he was going to win then every second counted. Especially against last years champion, a slug-like creature with an expanding stomach named Kevin. Kevin had taunted and insulted him in the qualifying rounds, stating openly and slowly on international television that it was impossible for a human to compete on his level. The memory of the public embarrassment ground Brodie’s gears and he was determined to prove him wrong. Between handfuls of poutine he stole a glance at Kevin, who was in the midst of eating their own pile of poutine. Brodie was ahead of him, just by a little, but enough that he allowed himself a smug, cheese, gravy, and fry-filled smile. Victory within reach he pushed himself to his limits. He swallowed entire handfuls without bothering to chew, muscles in his neck straining to push the food down. Slurping up the last of his poutine he beckoned furiously to the waiter to bring over the last dish. An entire pot of cheesy garlic mashed potatoes was set down in front of him. He grinned despite his stomach feeling like it was tearing at the seams. He had trained for this. For an entire year he had eaten a pot of mashed potatoes for dinner, recording how long it took him to eat it and constantly pushing himself to go faster until he could do it in just one minute and twenty-seven seconds. He quickly looked at the timer before plunging his hands into mashed potatoes. Exactly twenty-three minutes in. If he finished before the timer hit 24:27 he would beat his own personal record. The world around him faded away as he watched the timer tick, every second feeling like an hour as he struggled to shove as much mushy potato as he could fit into his mouth. As the timer hit the twenty-four minute mark his bodys’ autonomic nervous system decided to forgo breathing altogether, the consumption of mashed potato becoming Brodie’s sole purpose. Inhaling the last of the pot he slammed his hand down on the button. A loud buzzing noise rang out. Brodie looked to the timer. 24:20. Brodie jumped up and, with tears welling at the corners of his eyes, gave a crazed cheer that startled even the minotaur beside him. Pointing at the slug-like creature at the end of the table he screamed, “Take that Kevin, you slug-ass looking dickhead!” Then he passed out. When he opened his eyes he was in an off-white room on a hospital bed. Confused, he tried to sit up but found that he didn’t have the strength which only fed into his confusion. A door opened to the right and he watched Sandy, the love of his life, rush in from a door to the right of his hospital bed. Something was wrong about her. She had more grey hair than he remembered, even some whites, and there were wrinkles where there hadn’t been any before. Beginning to panic, Brodie attempted to speak to her but his vocal chords felt like they were being used for the first time. With a raspy croak he managed, “What… happened?” Sandy looked down at him with pain in her eyes. “Brodie, what I’m about to tell you is going to come as a shock but please don’t panic, it’s important you don’t put anymore stain on your body, do you understand?” Brodie used what little strength he had to nod his head. His love continued, tears in her eyes. “After you won the championship, when you stood up and yelled, the lack of oxygen in your brain caused you to pass out.” Brodie listened to every word, wide-eyed. “After the paramedics failed to revive you the doctors, they… they diagnosed you as comatose. Brodie, there’s no easy way to say this but…” Sandy began to sob. “Brodie,” she managed between her sniffles and tears, “You’ve been in a food coma for the last 15 years.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **** *Additional Bonus Constraints (worth 5 pts): Includes a flashback or memory.* This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.) The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/Zetakh   - - Submitted by u/stickfist   - - Submitted by u/GingerQuill &nbsp’ - - Submitted by u/ispotts   - - Submitted by u/Dewa1195   *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


26th June 2020, 10:32 AM: Harry is watching TV in his house. He is a magician and lives alone in a cooperative housing society. He is sitting on his couch and playing with his mobile. On TV, the news appears that a thief has escaped from the jail and is on the run from the police. Suddenly, someone knocks on his door. Harry opens it. He sees the same thief. At 10:40 AM, The police who were chasing the thief reached the housing society. Inspector Ramesh talks to the secretary of the housing society who informs them that the watchman is on a leave and there are no security cameras in the building. However, police find a CCTV camera in the street outside the housing society. The footage shows the thief entering the housing society. The police check the whole place. They go inside every house and search for the thief. No one opens Harry's house when the police knock. The police get suspicious and break open the door. At 10:50 AM, they enter the house and see Harry tied and gagged in a chair. The wardrobe in his bedroom is open. Harry tells Inspector Ramesh that the thief threatened him with a knife, tied him and stole 1.5 lakhs money that was in his wardrobe and left the house. Police then search outside in the streets but couldn't find the thief. The media mocks the police brutally. At 2:00 PM, Inspector Ramesh is suspended as the thief escaped the jail while he was on duty and he failed in catching him. Later that day, Ramesh goes home and is very depressed. He locks himself in his room and keeps thinking about the case. He is very desperate to solve this crime. He remembers that the CCTV footage in the street showed the thief entering the housing society but not leaving it. He suspects that the thief is still in the housing society and most probably in Harry's house. He tries to know more about Harry through the internet. He finds out that Harry is an expert in Escapology. He is convinced that Harry is lying because he could have easily freed himself when the thief tied him. He also finds out that many of Harry's shows have been cancelled and he is not a very successful magician. He believes that Harry cannot possess 1.5 lakhs and he is lying. 27th June 2020, 10:00 AM: Ramesh reports to his senior's office the next morning. He tries to convince him that Harry is lying. However, his senior Aakash rubbishes Ramesh's claims. Aakash tells him that Harry was tied by ropes instead of chains. He is only trained to free himself from chains with the help of a hook. Further, Harry was threatened by a knife. So it's possible he was nervous and couldn't free himself. Also, Harry has given a statement that he took a loan from a Government Bank for his next show and this has been confirmed by the Bank. This is how he had 1.5 lakhs in his wardrobe. Ramesh is told to leave the police office as he doesn't have any solid proof. He returns to his home as he had failed again. The case has been handed over to many officials. It has been shifted to many different departments. Many elaborate Inquiries and meetings to solve the crime have occurred. The thief's associates were caught and interrogated. His bank accounts and cash withdrawal were traced. 'Wanted' posters for the thief have been circulated within the country and later to overseas countries too. Spies have been set on Harry. But all of that was a dead end. It's been a year. The search for the thief and money is still continuing and this has become one of the most discussed cases among the police, public and media and yet it is not solved. However, the secretary of the housing society is happy that the government installed CCTV cameras inside the building for free. It turns out Harry got addicted to online gambling games during the lockdown and he lost a lot of money. He had taken a loan of 1.5 lakhs from the government bank but was unable to settle it as many of his shows were cancelled due to fear of the spread of the virus. Harry killed the thief the day he saw him and hid him behind a mirror in his bedroom. The mirror was one of his artefacts that he regularly uses in his magic shows. He then opened the wardrobe door, tied and gagged himself and feigned a crime scene. The corpse of the thief still lies behind the mirror. The case has made Harry very popular. Media had hailed him as a hero since according to them, he remained calm when the thief broke in. His debt is cleared because the government spared his loan as his money was stolen and couldn't be found by the police. He is now a successful magician, married and has two kids. Meanwhile, Ramesh became addicted to alcohol. He was arrested for beating his wife and daughter. In the jail, his mental health began to deteriorate. He was soon shifted to a mental asylum where he committed suicide.


What about power? Isn’t it the most wonderful of concepts? Power. POWER. It rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? Power. It’s never quite enough. We get a job; it gives us power. We go to school; it gives us power. We get money; it definitely gives us power. What? You’re going to say that’s not why we go to school or get a job. We do it because we have to. We do it because we need to survive, to live, to strive. Live for what? Strive towards what? Survive what? Most of us lead miserable lives. We’re just waking up, stretching midst the piles of shit the world is made out of, and what’s our need? To survive? Survive what? Power, that’s what. Other people’s power. Their need to identify themselves beyond their mere mortal condition. Their need to be beyond want, fear, doubt. That’s why you go to school and get a job. Because it’s a race. No, nobody cares if you don’t need to run alongside them. That’s not the point. You need to do it; you need to be there; you need to believe you have a choice. That’s what makes it so exciting, the belief you can win, the smell of your own power, the feel of freedom and escape. Just one more day, just one more dollar, just a bit more effort. And then? Well… who knows? We can’t really predict the future. But imagine if we could. Imagine how it would be to understand exactly where the line should be drawn. When enough would be enough. Not only to see that we finish the race, but how we finish it. To wake up one morning and immediately feel that today would be different. Today would be the day when we would finally understand who we are, feel that all your efforts would finally come to fruition. But no. Think further than that. You would wake up a century from that day, and you would get to learn that your struggle has paid off and see the ripples across time. Feel your power propagate and shape the world. Would you be able to notice it right away? Of course! What am I even asking here? We all know that feeling, that delicate elation when power comes within our grasp. That yearning. A morning such as that would be no different from any other, with the exception that from the moment we would open our eyes, we would feel complete. Effervescent. That’s how I would describe this morning. From the first breath of light, I know that today is the day. Today I will finally understand. What do I need to understand, though? This question has always racked by brain, stuck like a burr somewhere in my subconscious, floating just out of reach like a will-o’-the-wisp. It has guided me, molding me, fueling me, and now I finally feel as if it is no longer beyond my senses. Today. Today will be special. I get up at 7.00 AM and take a quick shower. I like to feel the splatter of the warm water over my body as the first thing of the day. The sensation keeps me rooted in my self, digging out the feelings of the previous night. This way, all the thoughts, all the dreams that I had borne throughout the night, get a final chance to sink in. Shedding their light and secrets as I bathe. I wash my teeth and eat something quickly. It’s not like I’m not a fan of breakfast, it’s that, how can I explain this. Food doesn’t do it for me anymore. I’ve tasted so much, so many times, flavor, well, there’s nothing new there or complex enough to get me started. I eat only what’s necessary. I love coffee, though. It’s hard to say why, but I do. If we go beyond the taste and its properties, I think there’s something beyond that which draws me in every morning. A freshness, an alertness, it’s like a distant friend’s handshake. It fills you up, makes you smile, even though he doesn’t say much. He’s just there. Today is a good day. I get dressed, grey slim-fit dress pants with a light blue shirt, also slim fit. A pair of dark blue Oxfords and a navy blue tunic to wrap everything up, and I’m off. The moment I step out through the front door, the feeling of completeness evaporates, a sort of anxiousness stepping in. I’m not worried. I knew this would happen eventually, feels somewhat romantic that it does the moment I walk away from the safety of my home. The dull grey of the lobby stares back at me. It’s such a lovely color, limited, silent. Normally, a driver would come and pick me up in the morning and take me to the office. Today I decide against it, well, I lie. I’ve decided against this last night, when I canceled the appointment. I feel like walking. I want to soak in the city as much as I can. It felt as if it would be one of my last chances to do this. It reminds me of my childhood honestly. Walking. I used to go to the central park or the central market square and sit somewhere and stare at people. Well, not stare. I would look at them, study them. Try to understand where they came from and where they went. I liked to imagine that I was a famous detective and looked for little clues about their lives. A piece of lint, a crease, a mark, anything. I didn’t notice them as much as I could, but I did get pretty good at reading people. Understanding them. Could this have been the understanding that I had been seeking all this time? Hmm, I don’t really see how this fits in. Why would everything change today? No. It’s got to be something else. Something that has touched me, but I’m still to touch it back. The elevator is rather busy in the morning. Today it jumps up at me from the shadows. I never heard it open. I’m glad I took the time to walk to the office today. It feels symbolic somehow. The apartment complex is in the city’s heart and its heartbeat makes itself known as soon as the elevator doors open. A healthy buzz of life and need, a static that presses and pulls and squeezes and rips. I love that first glimpse of… ‘What the fuck?!’ Where the fuck am I?! Everywhere I look, grey figures stare back at me as they step quietly on dark passageways. Higher up, what look like hovering cars hum back and forth incessantly. A man steps up to me and grabs me by the arm, and pulls me to the side. My body feels limp, so I let myself be pulled quietly. He lets go of my arm and walks away. I’m dumbfounded. I don’t understand what’s going on, but that’s not the issue. The real issue is, I don’t feel like needing to understand anymore. As if an existence was wiped out of me in the blink of an eye. The man took me to the left of the building entrance and I don’t feel the need to move from this spot. It feels safe. Is this why he dropped me here? Was I in his way? That’s some really strange behavior on his part. Socially conscious, though. The stream of people does not ebb. It has a steady rhythm to it, soothing and soft. What should I do? Am I dreaming? This hasn’t happened in quite some time. I’ve always had a sort of love-hate relationship with my subconscious. It never felt as if it were truly mine and yet, the only moments of care and tenderness I have ever experienced were the ones that it imprinted upon me. It felt as if I had a stern father within me. Sleep was something that always brought me closer to it, dreams especially, training me and nurturing me in the man I grew up to become, but I can’t really remember when I last had a lucid dream. I’m safe, I know I’m safe. This world that I’m having the privilege to witness mesmerizes me. Its precision, it feels as a finely tuned recorder, its sounds monotonous and dependent. What should I do? Normally, I would’ve turned right at the entrance in order to get to the office. I don’t have anything against this, so I find my place within the stream and step lively. Hmm. It feels so strange to fit in here like I do. My steps fall briskly on the metal floorboards and their echoes get sucked in. It’s as if I’m walking on linen. Comforting somehow in its unnatural way. The world sucks me in fully. I feel completely at peace. Even though the world in itself is strange and new, it’s not different from the one back home. The buildings are pretty much the same, more organized and neat, softer on the eye, but definitely the same. The passageways are easy to follow and there are guidance markers everywhere. My office is in the Central Square, and the path towards it is clearly marked. I have no issues getting there. The square is as magnificent as ever. The passageways are running along the edges of an empty square made of a black metal material. Having learned my lesson, I follow the path to one of the corners of the square and step off. Looking at it closer, it feels as if it’s not metal, but velvet; soft and inviting. An urge to touch the material comes over me and I begin to hunch down when a soft sensation prickles my scalp. I straighten and reach out an inquiring hand. The prickles flow through the tips of my fingers. Some sort of force field? Weird. From within the square, a ball of light gently shoots up, leaving behind a feathery trail. Upon reaching its climax, it floats for a second and then begins hovering with a slight delta. The feathery trail intensifies, sparks of light reach out every which way in unison with the hovering central light. The mute image feels soothing and welcoming. I explore the view from my corner and find my office building a little way off. It’s bigger than I remember it. Two banners hang from the sides of the building, furnishing the party’s colors: a black and white feather on a red background. Sublime! I truly think it is. If only I could see this in real life. I step on the path once more and approach the building. A large gateway bars my path and I step to the side to take it all in. To the left and right of the gateway, there is a security guard. As I stand there and look, several people approach and use an access pad, swiping a key card against it. A green light flickers, and the air clears within the entrance. The person steps in and then the following person approaches the access pad. Once the green light doesn’t show up and one of the guards gently escorts the person to a cubicle to the far left. When there are no more people waiting to enter, I go to one of the guards. ‘Good morning!’ ‘Good morning, Sir.’ ‘Would you be able to help me with some questions?’ ‘Yes, please.’ ‘I work here, but I don’t have my key card. Could you please tell me what I need to do?’ ‘Please go to the receptacle to your right and request a temporary pass.’ I look around for the place in question and quickly locate it; a small booth off the beaten trail getting here. ‘Thank you!’ I walk back to the main pathway and approach the booth. Several people had already queued up in front of it. I get in line and take the time to look at my colleagues. I don’t recognize any of them. They’re all wearing slim grey uniforms, zipped up just below the chin. I find the uniforms to be quite soothing to the eye, elegant too. There are only two more people in front of me and I can see the station in front of me. Although I can’t make out all the details, it seems to be some sort of scanning station. A crystalline voice makes itself heard: ‘I feel contempt.’ The person at the scanning station picks something up from a slot and makes its way back up the line. A quiet smile floats lavishly across its face. The person in front of me steps towards the station and inserts a key card. Ten seconds later I hear that voice again: ‘I feel contempt.’ The person picks up its key card and walks past me. I stare at the station and step towards it. Besides the slot to the right, there are two buttons leveled with my chest. One is labeled: “Scan” and the other “Temporary”. I press the one marked with temporary and the slot closes up. A couple seconds later, the “Scan” button lights up. I press it gently and feel a slight tingle in the middle of my forehead. ‘I feel empty,’ makes itself heard. The slot shoots out a key card and I pick it up. What does that mean? I make my way towards the front gate and scan my key card. The light doesn’t flicker green. The security guard approaches me and asks me to come with them. He escorts me to the cubicle located at the left of the building, the same cubicle that he had escorted the other individual towards. Inside the cubicle, a thin woman waits for me. She has close cropped hair and an easygoing smile. ‘Hello!’ ‘Hello,’ I reply. ‘State your name, please.’ ‘Jason Blumm.’ ‘Blumm? Are you sure?’ ‘Yes, Mám.’ ‘Like the father, do you find that odd?’ ‘Why would I find it odd? It’s my name.’ ‘Hmm. I see here that your empathy scan registered a deficit. We will now go through reprocessing in order to fix that.’ ‘Reprocessing?’ ‘Yes. There will be a series of questions meant to identify your mental state. Could you please attach these sensors on each side of your head?’ Why did she find it odd when I mentioned my name? ‘Because you share the name of our nation’s father, Mr. Blumm.’ What the… she can read my mind. ‘Impulses are registered through the sensors I’ve given you and the AI translates those impulses into a basic query. For example, it shows that you’re questioning your identity at the moment. I can only assume this is regarding my earlier reaction to your name.’ ‘Fascinating.’ ‘Indeed, is this why you’ve been feeling empty, Mr. Blumm. Does sharing the name of our father exact a pressure upon your being?’ ‘I’m sorry, but what do you mean through: Father.’ ‘Jason Blumm, head of state and creator of the wellness doctrine over a century ago. You were heading towards the administration building, weren’t you?’ ‘I was.’ ‘What were you intending to do there, Mr. Blumm?’ ‘I don’t know. I didn’t know where else to go.’ ‘I see. And the building’s significance drew you in?’ ‘I guess. I work here, if that counts.’ ‘What do you do here, Mr. Blumm?’ ‘Senior party executive of the Futurist Party.’ ‘Hmm. I understand. Mr. Blumm do you know what year this is?’ ‘2031?’ ‘Aha, that explains it. Reprocessing is complete now, Mr. Blumm.’ ‘Is it?’ ‘Yes, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re most likely suffering from fatigue brought on by the pressure of your name. Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about. You have been reassigned as an archivist in the administrative building, starting tomorrow. Please take these pills and report back to the scanner tomorrow.’ ‘But…’ ‘Here’s your new access key. Now, Mr. Blumm, the pills, should take effect immediately. Do you need help getting home?’ ‘No. Thank you,’ and I hand her the sensors. She tucks them away and dismisses me with a smile. She is right. The pills kick in as soon as I leave the cubicle. My thoughts get muddied, but they don’t impede my judgment or motor skills. The light show is still playing in the center of the square. Its velvety appearance as soothing as before, yet not as enticing. I wait for the feeling to pass and follow the pathways towards my apartment. I feel overwhelmed. I spend the rest of my day caught in a sort of reverie. I feel the presence of this place and the rightness of it. Is this the future that I seek, its understanding, its safety? Why would I not?! Outside my window I see the flow of life as it grinds to a halt in the evening, flickers of light shooting up from everywhere around the city shortly after. Life knows a peace and tranquility here hard to understand. The lack of need, of want. Could this be the future I imagined? Could I be this blessed? I fall asleep cradling these dear thoughts in my mind, and they nurture my sleep. Next day, I show up at the receptacle outside the administration building. I insert the access key in its designated slot and press the “Scan” button. The tingle feels familiar now, and a crystalline voice welcomes me into its world. I am content. Are you?! No? Could’ve fooled me. Peace.


My creation was one solely for the purpose of death, and my soul will not move on until the greatest one. When my eyes opened, and my consciousness of this world began, it was with others, those that became my closest comrades, my kin of soul and matter. All my kin are gone now, lost to this realm long ago. We were the first souls in this realm, and the creatures of the world followed soon after, we were there with the very simplest of those able to be considered truly living. We ferried them quite easily to the next realm, with time, the souls learned to travel, when they were forced from their physical forms they were scared, and we were there to calm them and help them to their next path. There were four of us. Once humans came into being, we decided that one would preside over the creatures of the land, one the creatures of the sea, one the air, and me, humanity. It was peaceful, and we were happy. It did not last. One day, the world shook. Its source was the death of one who should not die, one of my kin. That was the first time emotions came into my mind. A rush of emotions filled me, anger, fear, sadness, all unfamiliar to me in the past. Humanity, my children, had left a mark on me. I took flight to the source, and there, ripped to shreds, laid a shell of a God. No longer alive, the glossy surface of their form without the energy they once held. The keeper of the land was gone. I screamed my rage and heartbreak to the heavens, ruptured the skies with the force of my sorrow, and rain fell from the sky, lachrymose of the heavens. What could have done this? Why? The answers to both of those questions came in the form of violence, as so much else has. The errant soul of a creature ran into the clearing before me, followed close behind by something that shouldn’t exist. A dark, lithe form streaked into the clearing and pounced, extending towards the soul, but it met a wing batting it aside instead as I strode forward. The heap before me wasn’t anything meant to exist in this plane, it was shaped like a slender feline, with the only difference being the spawn before me was made of hellfire. This was the first of many Hell-Beasts that met my wrath, for the scent of a god’s death was on it. This creature was responsible for my kin being lost to the realm. It felt my wrath, and the beast responded in kind. It charged me, but was too slow, all of them are. Not a single one is unable to outdo the wrath fueling my every action. My hand shot out as it jumped for me, grabbing it by what could pass as its throat and squeezed. My hand burned but that didn’t bother me. I beat it with my other hand until the fire fizzled away to nothing. Looking down at my hands, they were bone now, charred and blackened. My job wasn’t done. I had time to ponder this later, for now, my work called. It felt like I was a passenger in my vessel. Watching it kneel, lay a hand on the soul before us, watching it dissolve from this realm as it went on to the next. The vessel stayed kneeling. I took on the duty of guiding all of the lands after that, but I never forgot what happened. No matter where the beasts went, the beating of wings followed them. They learned to fear the sound, and to fear me. Hundreds of the beasts were wiped from this plane, thousands maybe. All by my hand. The wrath of a god knew no mercy, and the hell-beasts got the full force of it, up until the very last of my wards, by then all the land and sea and sky were under my domain, left the earth. Then, I longed for a companion of any kind, but none came. For all that were left feared me. This, the final tragedy of my wrath. I am alone, and there is none to blame for it except myself.


Edward was by no means excited for his first day back in college, he had spent his entire winter break alone, happy in his room quietly reading his fantasy books and listening to the rain hit his window. He loved the crinkly noise it made as it tapped on the glass, it always gave him such a strange warm feeling he couldn’t quite describe. His family couldn’t afford many things, like the new ‘dreamcast’ that had just been released by Sega a few months prior. They always apologised to him, ‘We’re sorry Ed, we just can’t afford to get you one of those *Nintendo’s* this year’. Edward didn’t care though, he was always perfectly content reading, it was his favourite thing to do. He loved to lose himself in the magic of fantastical worlds. Even now as he got off the bus at dame street and slowly dragged himself to campus, he was away with the fairies, dreaming of the large arched doors at the front gates, he liked to imagine they could be some sort of gateway to another dimension, maybe another plane of existence? He couldn’t know for sure, but he hoped that one day he would walk through and find himself somewhere different. As he got closer to the campus, he noticed the students just passed the entrance, *pricks* he thought to himself, *all so posh and full of themselves like yeah we get it you got into college, who asked??*. He didn’t have much scholarly pride, and not many of these people were very nice to him. The one interaction he allowed himself to have ended with ‘Oh…so you’re from the northside? I couldn’t even tell!’. *What does that even mean, you can’t tell? Am I supposed to have a knife, or some tough accent?* He was letting it get to his head again, that conversation was nearly four months ago. Edward stood beneath the archway, he wasn’t particularly tall, but even to a tall person this entrance was big, like really big, like troll sized at least. He closed his eyes and took a step forward……He opened them again.. nope just the regular old campus on a freezing January morning and he probably looked like an idiot, then he continued onwards and into his first lecture, and then his second, and by six o clock he was done, Thank. God. Leaving college was his favourite part of the day, if you hadn’t guessed already, he really hated it there, but as he got to the bus stop and went to pull out his earphones and his dads old Walkman, he realised he had left them in one of the lecture halls *Fuck…That’s not good.* He ran back to the campus and searched through every hall until he found them, lying there on the professor’s desk in what was his first class of the day. He picked them up and put the headphones on, pressed play and closed his eyes once more, *what a shitty day* The tape started to play and he opened his eyes reluctantly. *That’s weird…* Now if you're still reading this story, you probably know what happens next and i truly wish i could tell you, you were right, Edward opens his eyes and realises he’s finally in that fantasy world he’s always wanted to find, maybe he see’s a painting on the wall that begins to move or beckon him towards it. Who knows maybe he goes on adventures and makes friends along the way, maybe even meets a nice girl who adventures alongside him? Or, maybe if you’re more ‘realistic’ you might think Edward just got sick of the life he was living and left his home, ran away. There was one man found all the way in Seattle who perfectly matched his description, and the weird thing is that guy was a fantasy author. Just a coincidence I suppose. But as I write this, I truly have no idea what happened to Edward, and I say this because when he entered that classroom it was the last time he was ever seen.


“There’s starving kids in Africa, you know?” *147 calories for the two pieces of plain toast my parents made me eat for breakfast. 90 for the apple at lunch. If I eat one of the potatoes that’s about 160-* “Hello?! Are you even listening Amanda?” “Yeah, yeah. Starving kids in Africa, I know, I donate to charity.” Amanda had heard the spiel about a hundred times before. Strangers on the street would yell at her to eat a burger. As she perused the special dietary sections of supermarkets she’d have people tell her to eat proper food. *‘You’re too skinny.’ ‘Men like a little something to grab onto.’* Every cliché line repeated over and over again, her life had become a bad lifetime movie. Now instead of some random stranger it was her brother’s new girlfriend, Kate. They had just met mind you, and she already knew Kate was going to be trouble the moment they shook hands. *‘Oh god your hands are so bony! Ow!’* She had that look some women get when you know your entire existence disturbs them. It hurt worse coming from them. Stares that bore into your soul, burning right to the core of your existence. Whatever happened to sister solidarity? “Well, still, you’re wasting food. You haven’t even touched anything on your plate.” Technically, Amanda had touched something on her plate. Her fork had stabbed and rolled a series of peas around it, leaving a snail like trail of green slime in its wake. But she figured telling Kate this would just cause more problems than it was worth. So she opted to be cocky instead. “I’d send it to the kids in Africa but I reckon it wouldn’t make it there in good condition.” That made Ben, her brother, laugh at least. Ben was always like that though. He knew that humour helped in these situations. *‘If I don’t joke about it, it’s just sad.’* Of course this angered the bull, excuse me, Kate more, and she flashed him a look that could crush a boulder with its fury. “Look everyone may accommodate your craziness and baby you, but one day you’ll have to realise that your attention seeking is childish.” While being accused of seeking attention wasn’t a new one, it was sure as hell confusing. Amanda looked down at her clothes, joggers two sizes too big, her Dad’s hand me down sweater, fluffy thermal socks to keep her constantly shivering body somewhat warm. She hid her body, she didn’t want anyone to see it. To be honest she wouldn’t even be here, sat at the dinner table if it wasn’t for her Mum begging her. *'Please darling, your brother is excited to bring his girlfriend round, and I want us to be like a proper family.'* "You don't get it, Kate. I don't want to be like this. I would kill to be able to eat normally." "Then do. You can control this you know." "Fine!" The fork that had been playing with a particularly mushed up pea now stabbed a boiled potato. Within two bites it was gone, disappearing into Amanda's mouth and was now on the journey down her throat to her stomach. Kate smirked. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" *160 calories for the potato. Maybe add another 50 for good measure. Okay so 210 calories. That's about an hour of sit ups. I can do that. I could walk, but I don't think I want Kate to see me do that. Okay, I can do this. It's fine. I'm fine.* “Hello! Earth to Amanda. It’s not that big of a deal. You look like you’re going to combust.” "Yeah whatever, Kate.


By the following evening we were back in the South. Alessia and I sat on the deck of the Deer Drum boat watching the red sky in the west. The sun had just dipped past the horizon and the dying embers spilled out across a cloudless expanse. We sat with our legs dangling off the side of the boat, the sheltered seas gently lapping against the hull beneath us. The hunt for Sannaz in the south had been unsuccessful too. And while some of the islanders remained on shore, Alessia and I stayed back on the boat. The search could continue tomorrow. Behind us a few of the children played tag up and down the boat. Mirai was joining in, recapturing a bit of her childhood, easily out pacing her competitors as she zipped up and down the gangway, leaping over the vegetable beds in a single bound. As we talked, we listened to the roars of laughter and delighted squeals as bodies darted from outstretched fingers. “A whole war over when to hold a festival,” Alessia nodded to herself. “I’d like to say I’m surprised but…” She trailed off. “It’s stupid.” “Not sure any war isn’t,” Alessia replied, kicking her shoes against the ship’s hull. We sat in silence for a moment. My eyes were staring off into the darkening sky above me. I remained like that, staring perfectly still for a few moments. “Clear wind for your thoughts,” Alessia said. I looked at her scrunching my face. “What you thinking about? ‘Cause the sky ain’t that interesting.” I turned my gaze back to the island beside us. “I was thinking about this island. Almost all islands were probably like it once, right?” “What’dya mean?” “When whatever happened, happened and the Archipelago got made. Everyone left decided how the world should be, what the new society would be like. And there would’ve been fights. Not everyone would’ve woken up with the same idea. A lot of them probably started like this.” I nodded to the town and the faint outline of the perimeter wall that could just be made out between the buildings. “You’re probably right.” Alessia gave a half-hearted shrug. “Kadear, before it was Kadear, might have been like this. One long war until one side loses and the victors get to build the island in their image.” “You reckon they all would’ve been that violent?” Alessia asked. She brought her legs up from the side of the ship, tucking up her knees and wrapping her arms around them as the heat slowly left the evening air. I shook my head. “Probably just a war of words, a lot of them. Keep talking until one side can’t be bothered to argue anymore. Just two islands in one until one side loses out through force of personality or money.” I sighed. “But people will also fight too easily.” “If you can’t win an argument, you can always stab the other guy.” Alessia gave a wry smile. “It!” one of the children shouted right beside us. Another groaned in response. There were footsteps before a girl giggled a scream. “Missed me,” she added in a mocking tone. Alessia chuckled to herself at the antics. “You ever think you’d have a family?” I asked. She scoffed. “I’ve got my own parents to put me off that. You?” “Not sure I ever gave it much thought.” I cupped my hands in my lap, staring at them for distraction. “Too busy trying to get to the Citadel. Perhaps I thought, I’d decide later.” “And before you know it you’re travelling the seas with some stranger and her furnitureless ship,” she smirked. Laughter escaped my lips. “So… what was wrong with your family?” I asked. “Parents were never together. No animosity. Just weren’t. I’m the product of a fling.” She paused, one side of her mouth smiling. “Never saw my dad half my life, only came to pick me up when my mum was dying and that was the last I saw of her. Not sure I know what a family is beyond that.” I leaned over and patted her leg. “You’ve done a pretty solid job of looking after us. That’s quite the family you made.” “Eh. You’re the only one who’s a handful.” There was a brief shout of “Cheater!” behind us from one of the kids. An instinctual guffaw left both our lips. Alessia held the back of hand up to her mouth, as I leaned over until the humour left our system and the quiet returned. “What you two up to?” I craned my neck to see Mirai standing over us. “Talking and enjoying the sunset,” Alessia replied. “Mind if I join you? Think I’m done with the kids.” I smirked to Alessia briefly. “Sure.” I shuffled over to make way, before my whole body seized at the sound of a loud boom. A distant thunderous roar. I felt the wood of the boat shake, shiver in place. We all stopped, our heads turning to the island. Another boom. This one didn’t resonate as deep but it came with the accompaniment of the sound of rock shattering and walls crumbling. I stood up. “An explosion,” Alessia said. There was another blast as I saw a puff of smoke and dust lift off the roofs of the town. Behind us the children screamed, quickly followed by whimpering. Frightened tears falling from young eyes. “They’ve come back for us,” a child wailed behind me. “What the fuck is happening?” Mirai asked. “Mirai, get the kids below decks.” I leaned down as I spoke, staring straight into her wide eyes. “Tell people to ready the ship, we may have to leave quickly.” “Mum. Dad. They’re on the island. Lachlann too.” Her eyes flicked back and forth, her mind racing. “Shit,” I muttered. Alessia stepped forward. “Mirai, you deal with things here. We’ll go get them, okay?” “Are they gonna be okay?” Mirai’s voice cracked with panic. “We’ll bring them back, I promise.” Alessia smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But your brother and the ship needs you.” Mirai took the information in, and then slowly nodded her head. “Okay.” She turned to rally up the rest of the kids, as some of the adults emerged from below to see what was going on. Alessia and I ran down the boat to where the skiff was tied. I grabbed the oars and started pulling as hard as I could. “What do you think’s happening?” “I think the war’s ending,” Alessia replied. “Where’d they get the explosives from?” I shouted between heaves of the oars. Alessia scrunched her face. “Not important right now.” I continued to row long strokes to the harbour wall. “What’s the plan?” “Head into the town, find them, bring them back.” Alessia gave a scowl, a hint of irritation at my question. “What if they’re outside the town? In the fields to the west?” “What? Why would they be?” Alessia shook her head. “They might be and if they are then we won’t find them.” My voice was drowned out by another bomb ripping holes in the Southern wall. Alessia paused, staring at her feet. “You’re right.” The boat thudded against the wall, a small piece of wood snapping off with the collision as splinters fell into the water. I clambered up the steps and tied the first knot I could think of round the wooden stake as Alessia gave instructions. “I’ll head into town, you take the long way round, go up through that gorge at the end of the harbour. I’ll head around and we’ll meet in the middle.” “Agreed,” I started turning to leave. “Ferdinand.” I paused and faced Alessia. She had steely eyes, but her lips quivered as she spoke. “Be safe. You mean too much to me.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You too.” We stared at each other for a moment. Both of us unwilling to break apart, certain the other was safe as long as we always had eyes on them. Another explosion. The sound broke us from the trance, before the rumbling ground beneath us forced our feet to turn and head away. I jogged along the waterfront, trying not to look back lest my feet refuse to leave Alessia any further. We were heading towards danger, each step away from the Deer Drum boat making our chances of survival that little bit less. Reaching the hill at the end of the wall I jumped down onto the grassy bank, my feet quickly sinking into the soft, long grass. I took one last look at the town as the cliffs shook with another blast. Black plumes of smoke rose from the far end of the city, a yellow halo creeping around the buildings, illuminating the darkening skies. In the distance, I could see the silhouette of Alessia disappearing up the zigzag path towards the town. Then I disappeared between the cliffs On either side of me was sheer rock. Thick and ancient granite that rose up a good twenty metres, a natural tower that man-kind could never match. At the base of the crag were smaller, more jagged rocks, ones brought down the slope or etched off the cliff face over the years. Centuries of rain water had eaten away at the channel, softening the ground to a marsh and my feet struggled for purchase in the soft soil as I clambered upwards. Determination propelled me forward, but each step up the steep hill sapped the energy from my thighs. I ignored the pain, heaving deep lungfuls of air to replenish my muscles with the necessary oxygen. Back towards the town, the vertical surface began to ease off, slowly softening until it was a slope I could manage to climb. I turned, heading up the steepest segment I felt I could manage. My heartrate was pounding as I took wide strides, trying to make the slope as soft as possible. I heard something. It sounded like a name whispered on the breeze. I paused, tilting my ears and inspecting it, but heard nothing more. Leaning forward, I resumed the climb, battling against the incline till I could begin to see the peak. “Ferdinand.” The voice was quiet, frail, broken. “Ferdinand.” This time louder, but with a pained jolt. My stomach crunched in like a fist. I turned and looked up. On the cliff opposite I could see Lachlann. Even from here I could make out the damp sheen to his face, the hard breathing, and shivering frame. His hands were tied behind his back. It was then I noticed the figure in black standing beside him. “So this is Ferdinand then,” the man shouted across the space. “I wasn’t sure how I pictured you.” I didn’t recognize him. The round pudgy face, or the short clipped hair. But I knew who it was. “Sannaz Lytta.” “Correct,” came the call. “I was hoping the bombs would force you off your boat. Commander Kendra was very happy to take the last of my explosives.” I wanted to cower. I wanted to run frightened. But I tried to imagine how Alessia would act. How she would carry herself and stand up to someone trying to have power over you. I pulled my shoulders back and stood firm. “So this is your plan. Kill another island?” “No. I just wanted to talk. The North will take care of the rest for me.” “Let Lachlann go.” I called out. Sannaz grabbed the back of Lachlann’s shirt and dragged him to the edge of the cliff. “What? Here?” “Don’t do this!” I raised my hands, showing my palms. “Okay. Then help me.” “How?” “I’ve heard about you, asking after me all over Talin Barier. So I asked about you. Traced your journey. I even visited Pomafauc Reset. I know why you left. I know about the books you asked for on Ringatoy Shires. You wanted to find out the Archipelago’s origins. So tell me, where is it?” I looked from side to side. “Where is what?” “Don’t be stupid Ferdinand.” Sannaz grabbed Lachlann once more, jostling him. Lachlann let out a small cry looking down the cliff in front. “Tell me why you did it,” I said, trying to get Sannaz thinking in a different direction. “Why I did what?” “Deer Drum. Sneppath Head. You could’ve just stolen the books. Why all the killing?” Sannaz grinned. “I merely sped things up. They all would’ve died anyway.” “Not like that,” I replied with a scowl. “They could’ve had peaceful lives.” “You think that?” He turned to Lachlann and leaned in close. “Tell me. How many women a year died during childbirth on Deer Drum? How many kids caught a virus that couldn’t be cured? How many people angered a horse one day and took a kick to the temple?” He turned to me. “Or for you, how many people lived in squalor, fighting day to day while you chased your Citadel?” He stuck his jaw out. “Back on Stet, we’d lose a guy down the mines once a month. The lucky ones had rocks fall on them. The unlucky were trapped and unreachable. Suffocated or died of hunger. Is that peace?” “Why add to that suffering?” “I ended it. Killed the one in one hundred chance at a happy life to make sure the suffering was never worse. I brought peace.” I looked around, searching on the hill for an answer. “You’re wrong.” “Am I?” “You have to be.” “You’ve seen more than most Ferdinand. What happiness could justify the sadness you’ve seen, what could possibly make that worthwhile…” Sannaz trailed off, his eyes glancing above me. I turned to see Alessia, Xander and Kurbani standing behind me. A reflexive smile crossed my lips. “You can join Ferdinand. You can’t come round here.” Sannaz shook his head but maintained his stare. I watched Xander tighten his hands, his wide shoulders bristling with rage. Alessia and Kurbani too held the gaze. However, all three complied and began walking down the hill towards me. “So, Ferdinand, am I wrong? Is the suffering a lie?” I closed my eyes, thinking. “No. You’re right. You just missed so much. Life is cruel, and tough, and it can end so sadly. But, there’s also so much joy to be had. And those good bits. That’s worth it all. However fleeting those moments may be, they are always worth fighting for.” I paused, recatching my breath. I turned to look to the three people arriving beside me. My eyes settled on Alessia. She flicked me a smile, and a slow reassuring nod. “You can pick all the worst bits, and there are plenty. But you also have to remember all the good. We’ve all suffered. I know I have. But beyond all that pain, and anguish, I’ve had moments of happiness and love greater than anything I’ve known.” My eyes filled with water. They closed, scrunching. As I contained the tears, I could make out the faces of those people around me in my mind. Behind them was black. Fears. Old horrors. Pained memories. But in front of it all were those that I’d met along the way, so much closer, so much stronger than all the agony. And front and centre was Alessia. She had that oh so familiar facial expression she often wore. One that told me I was being a fool, lunging optimistically into a stupid situation, and yet she would support me anyway. Not out of practicality, but out of… kindness. Out of a want for good, no matter how unlikely it was to succeed. My eyes opened again, looking up at Sannaz, then to Lachlann, then back to Sannaz. “Good actions still exist. Even here. Even now. Every moment that we exist and try to make things better has the potential for joy and you can’t take away that potential from people’s lives. That’s what you did. All of our lives will end in a moment of sadness. But you stole the joy along the way. You robbed them of potential.” Sannaz nodded slowly, his jaw still stuck out so that he looked down at us past the end of his nose. “Lovely speech, Ferdinand. But you know how this all happened. You know how low we all sank. It just didn’t go far enough. So tell me, where is the site?” He screamed the last words, seizing Lachlann’s arm. “I don’t know.” “Stop playing dumb.” He shuffled Lachlann closer to the cliff. Lachlann fought back but the grip was too strong. “What site? I don’t know what you mean?” “The Archipelago. The site where it was made. Where is it?” I stood shaking my head slowly, trying to make sense of the demand. Nothing came. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Tell me!” Sannaz growled. I looked to the other three, they shook their heads. Alessia took a step forward, standing by my side. “We don’t know what you mean. None of us do.” Sannaz took a beat, then a snicker escaped his lips. It grew into a loud cackle. “You really don’t know do you? All that hunting and travelling and you know shit.” “No. We don’t. We can’t help you. So let Lachlann go,” I pleased. Sannaz shook his head. “You see. If you don’t know how The Archipelago was formed, then you know so little that you’re of no use to me.” He turned and stared into Lachlann’s eyes. “Which means you aren’t either.” Sannaz let go of Lachlann’s arm. Placed a hand behind him, and pushed. Lachlann let out a desperate yell. A final plea for some miracle of the Earth to save him as he plunged from the cliff face. The plea was snuffed out as he hit the ground, smashing against the rocks. I felt the impact against my own ribcage. My chest caving in, my lungs unable to respond. I wanted to scream, but only the faintest breath of wind escaped my lips as I stared at Lachlann’s still form on the ground. Sannaz turned and disappeared over the crest of the hill. “Get him!” Alessia shouted. Xander ran up the slope, trying to find a way over to the other side. I wasn’t sure who Alessia meant the instructions for, but the other three of us didn’t join in the pursuit. Instead, we all ran towards Lachlann, hoping - however fruitlessly - he could still be saved. \ The final chapter in Book 2 will be published on the 20th February.


Dan kicks the vending machine and curses. It had eaten his money *again*. “Damn thing,” he mutters. “Never gives out. It’s conspiring against me.” The break room’s lights flicker, then cut out. A strange wind whips up. There’s a flash of turquoise. The rustle of a shell suit. “Did somebody say conspiracy?” A voice enquires. “It’s just eaten my money, s’all.” Dan says, peering into the machine, more interested in the dangling confectionary than what had just transpired. But something makes him look. He double takes. Dan finds a portly middle-aged man, standing with his fists on his hips. His first impression being that to rock a shell suit is a brave choice. But to combine it with a cape even more so. “Having some trouble?” Conspiracy Man enquires. “Yeah,” Dan says, giving the machine a shake. “It’s eaten my money.” “Vending machines,” Conspiracy Man sneers, then spits on the ground. “Agents of the illuminati.” “I thought facilities management brought them in?” Conspiracy Man chuckles. “That’s what they want you to think.” “Well, whoever it was, I just want to get some chocolate.” “Don’t get sucked in. That’s what they want you to do! Open your eyes. Question the narrative.” “Which is?” “Chocolate is an agent of the illuminati.” “I thought that was vending machines?” “They both are. It’s a web within a web. Another way to keep the average man ignorant of their devious plan.” “Which is?” “To get you buying chocolate.” Dan scratches his head. “But I want to have some chocolate.” “Oh dear,” Conspiracy Man says, placing an arm around Dan’s shoulder. “Look around and tell me what you see.” Dan looks for a moment. “The break room: A vending machine. A water cooler. Coffee machine.” “Do you know what I see?” Dan shrugs. “The weaponry of the illuminati.” “I thought they were agents?” “Tomato, tomarto.” Conspiracy Man says and spins from Dan’s shoulder. “Take the coffee machine. Do you know what coffee is?” “An agent of the illuminati?” Dan offers. “Exactly!” Conspiracy Man exclaims. “Now you’re getting it. It’s another tool to get you coming back. Sinking your hard earned money into it. Keeping you working and obedient whilst the 1% sit back and laugh.” “But it’s a free coffee machine.” “Yes,” Conspiracy Man stutters. “That’s why they have the vending machine, too. That’s not free.” Dan nods. Whether it was linked to his low blood sugar, this was making a strange kind of sense. “So, tell me. What do you think of this is?” Conspiracy Man says, moving behind the water cooler. “Easy. Another agent of the illuminati.” “No. It’s just a water cooler. We need water to live, Dan. Some things are just needed.” After kicking himself at this schoolboy error, Dan has a moment of clarity. He’s still no further in getting his snack. “Sorry, is this all heading somewhere?” “I’m here to help Dan. I’m here to free your mind. I can open the door, but you need to walk through.” “So, are you’re not going to help me get my chocolate?” “Not at all.” “Because it’s an agent of the illuminati?” “No. That thing is stuck.” Conspiracy Man says, giving the vending machine a good shake. “Nothing is getting that thing out.” Just then, a man in overalls wheeling a sack truck enters the break room and inspects the vending machine. After jotting some details on a clipboard, he moves behind it, turns it off and begins positioning himself to move it. “Excuse me,” Dan begins. “What are you doing?” “Taking it away.” The workman replies. “A faults been reported, so it needs to be taken away for repair.” “Ah, you see what this is?” Conspiracy Man asks, becoming very animated. “Censorship. He’s here to cover up what’s going on. Taking away the evidence before it can be documented.” “Huh?” “Don’t mind him.” Dan says. “It swallowed my money. Is there anything I can do?” “Call this number.” The workman says, handing Dan a card. “They can sort you out.” “Cheers. That’s great.” Dan says with a smile, as the workman edges the machine onto the sack truck before wheeling it from the room. “I told you we’d stick it to the man. Didn’t I?” “You’ve done literally nothing.” Conspiracy Man edges from the room. “Have I Dan? Have I?” But before Dan can answer, the lights go out. They come on again in an instant, but Conspiracy Man is gone. Gone to Facebook or wherever someone needs to know how covid *really* started.


A small cart was pulled down an idyllic countryside road, the grass flats surrounding the cart were lush, vibrant, and spotted with flowers of all colours. The trees nearby bore fruit, adding a sweet scent to the air, and the distant hills adds shape to the horizon, allowing for the golden rays of the morning sun to creep through, creating strong beams of light. At the end of one of these light beams was a man holding the reigns to a small donkey that pulled his cart. The light rested upon his chest as the ambient light filled the wrinkles on his face so no shadow could hide, giving him a more youthful look that better represented how the man felt. Although his body had aged, his muscles not what they used to be, but still strong with the endurance of a hard life hidden beneath every callous, and every scar. The man chewed on fresh seeds as he made his way to town, down the road he spied three individuals walking towards him, he smiled, waving his hand he called out. “Good morning!” The sun started to pick up heat as it rose into the sky, no longer caressing Dolor lovingly, now attacking it like a child jabbing the side of a nearby adult, trying to grab its attention. Down below in the grass laid the body of an old man, and the seeds that he chewed upon. Standing on the cart were four individuals that sifted their hands through the seed that lay in the back of the cart. A stout Dwarf leant against the cart with his staff in hand as he watched his partner, a satyr searched the pockets of the old man. Meanwhile an elf woman was pulling fistful of seeds from the bags and screaming in frustration as her partner sat where the old man sat, a human, he took in a deep breath and raised his arms to the sky to welcome the rays of the sun. “It truly is a good morning.” He said as he let out a deep sigh. “Travis, I swear to the divine, if you don’t do anything to help, I will goddam cut you.” Said the elvish woman as she continued her frantic searching. “Calm down my love, we got stitched for information. The guy who dropped the hint is probably far out of town by now.” “Don’t call me love.” She said with a swiftly drawn knife pointed at him. “I will add more scars to that lump of flesh you call a body.” “You need to calm her down Travis, you know how Val’ea gets when she thinks there are magic items around.” The dwarf said as he moved away from the cart. “You wanna be next Gorn?” Her eyes darted between the two of them as the knife danced gently in her hand. “Gorn will you please relive my beautiful partner of her anxiety?” Travis asked as he looked to Gorn. Gorn sighed, he raised his staff and cast a simple spell which seemed to have no effect. “Sorry love, but the fact we aint seeing anything sparkle means this was a stitch up. No hidden magic items here.” Travis said as he smiled to Val’ea. Val’ea’s eyes calmed down and her breathing slowed. She seemed to freeze for a moment before taking a more relaxed stance. “I am sorry, you know how I get when I get the urge. I do hate my ancestry some times.” “I don’t.” Travis said as he grabbed Val’ea around the waist. “You Elves know how to have a good time.” Travis and Val’ea laughed softly before gropping one another and making out in the back of the cart. Gorn looked to his partner as she was looking up at the other two with a face of disgust. “Shae, find anything on the old man?” “Nothing, well unless you include the small pouch of coin he had.” “Does it cover the cost of the tip?” Gorn asked genuinely. Shae counted the coins, juggling the pouch occasionally as she went. “Maybe. I mean like, close enough if you ask me. Plus, now we have a cart filled with seeds, so that is a thing I guess.” “Oi you two, quit it. We been stitched up, what are we going to do now?” Gorn called out as he stood next to Shae. Travis pulled back from Vae’ea and looked around as he licked his lips. “How about we go forest, trade the seeds with the local Cappy, get what we can from them in the way of healing items, then use them and our ability to murder to take whatever they have left?” Everyone looked to one another, then with a short, and sharp laugh they all hopped into the cart and whipped at the donkey that strained to take them off road, and towards the sparse forest on the outskirts of the town. Meanwhile in the deep of the forest the small tribe of Cappies were still sluggish from only just waking up. The forest gave them a fine shelter from the bulk of the sun that tried to get through to them. Instead of the harsh lines, they got soft beams that were controlled by the leaves on the swaying branches of the still trees. The light gave a comforting warmth, while the cool breeze that rolled between the trees stopped them from overheating. The slow river that ran through their forest gave them ample space for growing their food, and some of the ingredients that they need in making their medicinal agents. Those they can’t grow, they find arriving by the animals they have befriended to aid them. Small rodents arrived with nuts, and ground growing fungus, larger animals stripped bark, and pulled flowers from plants that grow much too high for the smaller animals to reach. Through the woods, the sound of a cart echoed softly as a tired donkey followed the windy path that set forth towards the Cappies. The Cappies themselves could hear the coming cart, so they prepared their goods for trade as to not waste the incoming trader’s time. “Good morning!” Travis yelled with a raised arm, and a large smile. “Beautiful day for it isn’t it?” The Cappies smiled, returning the wave and hailing good mornings in response. Travis leapt from the cart as the others started to pull the grain from the cart. A few of the Cappies ran off, while a couple even dove into the water and disappeared up stream. “I hope we didn’t scare them off. I am Travis.” He said as he placed a hand on his chest. “Those behind me are my friends, and we are here to trade some seed.” One of the Cappies walked up to the donkey and started to pet her, despite her anxious mood she appeared calm from sheer exhaustion. One of the Cappies approached Travis and smiled as they looked up at him. “I am Tor Eem, I am what you would call the leader of this little tribe. What kind of seed did you bring for us today? Because we recently had to let go of a large store of seed, and we are looking to replace it.” Travis knelt down to look the Cappy in the eye, while laying a hand on his shoulder. “Listen friend, I will level with you. I don’t actually know what we have in the cart. I just snatched what I could in the markets this morning with the hope that it would be something that you were after. We are in a desperate way for healing tonics and salves. Sadly, the act of hunting monsters in this area has taken a toll on those still at home.” “That is terrible to hear, I am sure we can work something out for you. I mean, that is the least we can do for those who put their lives on the line to kill those that may kill us if given the chance.” Tor Eem walked over to the cart to sink his own fingers in the grain. He closed his eyes, and with a sad heart, and tears falling from his face he placed a blessing on the seeds. Travis looked to the others as they poorly hid the laughter that hid behind their toothy grins. “These are Solet seeds. Very tasty, especially to you humans.” They said gesturing to Travis. “It is quite valuable, and very actually grow it around here. I would say that we have the biggest stores in the area.” “Well maybe not, whoever grew these clearly had quite the patch.” Gorn added as he took the final sac from the cart. “Do you think there might be a trade for these goods?” “No.” There was a long pause as the small party looked around confused. “I am sorry, but what?” Val’ea asked as politely as she could. “Well, the thing is that we know we are the biggest farmers of these seeds in the area, as we are the only farmer of these seeds in this area. Meaning anyone who rolls into your town with a cart full of these seeds came from here.” Tor Eem looked around at the small party with sadness in his eyes. “Please say you did not kill Thomas, we were quite fond of the old man, he had the best vegetables in the area.” The donkey called out and Tor Eem eyes welled up even more. “Yes, we love you too. You were a noble steed for Thomas.” The small group looked to one another confused. “It is quite simple, Thomas only left with this cart not too long ago, he traded with our early morning people who are currently resting. There is no way that he could have made it to town to sell and have the buyers come straight back. Especially with Thomas’ little Emily.” “Hey this is not no Emily, she is our donkey, and she does not have a name.” Shae said as she stepped in front of the donkey. “Give it up, we can speak with animals, there is no mistaking that that is Emily. Even without her speaking to us, we would have known. Thomas had a very rustic look that no one else managed to maintain like he did. Please just leave the cart and goods, and leave our forest.” Tor Eem started to head away from the cart when Shae laid the tip of her spear down into the soil in front of him. “I think we will be taking what medical supplies you have gathered here, then we will take whatever else you have lying around.” Tor Eem walked around the spear head and walked off without a word. Shae looked to the others for confirmation, Gorn stepped forward and grabbed Tor Eem’s arm spinning them around so they could look eye to eye. “Listen here fur ball. We are taking what you have, and there is nothing you can do to stop us. So load the cart or their will be blood.” Tor Eem looked up as a bird called out over the sounds of Gorn’s brutish slurring. “You didn’t even give him the decency of a burial? You have brought much sadness to our tribe this day. Please leave.” Travis spat the hulls of seeds that he had started to chew on. “Oh wow, these are really tasty. We should take a bag for us.” Tor Eem looked back at the group as they stood relaxed behind the tense Gorn. They laughed and joked with one another as Tor Eem watched Travis with angry eyes as he spat hulls from his mouth messily. “Are you listening? Or do I need to teach you a lesson in respect?” Gorn grabbed Tor Eem by the throat and started to squeeze. Tor just stood there as the air in their lungs quickly disappeared. The others watched from behind laughing. “Man these things are even softer than I thought. Why don’t more people pick on the Cappies?” Val’ea called out mockingly. Suddenly without warning, an enormous wolf took hold of Gorn’s arm and pried his grip from Tor. The others in Gorn’s group raised their weapons as they checked their surroundings for more wolves. “Listen here, all of you.” Tor could be hardly heard over the screams of Gorn, but yet they still spoke softly, and with a calm that could cause envy in those who meditate. “There is a reason that we can live here in peace, and that is because we make it, we take it. Wherever we travel, we do not stay unless we can make ourselves safe, because with safety comes the ability to care for those around you.” The group were barely listening as they watched as an enormous pack of wolves appeared from the trees. “I have never seen a wolf pack so big.” Shae said as she the Cappies caught her attention once more. “If you help us kill them, we promise not to hurt you.” The Cappies stood in silence. “We speak to the animals, what part of that don’t you understand? We as a race may not be capable at defending ourselves, but our friends are more than capable of killing those that dare threaten us.” There was the sound of yelping, and the wolf that was on Gorn limped off whimpering. “I thought you lot were supposed to care for all creatures. So you can’t hurt us, or you will be going against your very nature.” Gorn said as he limped to his friends. “You really are stupid. Us killing you is us protecting our friends, if you had died before today Thomas would still be alive. The next best thing we can do is to avenge him. So, in the nicest way possible, please prepare to die.” The small group screamed as the wolves closed in as an un-stoppable wave of teeth and claws. By late evening Thomas’ cart was returned to his farmstead where a teary-eyed woman fell to her knees as she watched the Cappies bring it back with his body lying in the back of Emily’s cart. They stayed with her to help her bury her husband, they sold the seeds and provided her with the money, along with money from healing products that they sold in the market. Emily was put to bed in the stable by the Cappies, but Thomas’ wife was the one to give her a blanket, and it was Emily who immediately took it off to wander forth and lay by Thomas’ grave side. The wife followed behind with the blanket and laid in the crook of her belly as she mourned her late husband. The Cappies slowly departed, leaving a pack of wolves to surround the farm. Over the next months a small group of the Cappies returned daily to help Thomas’ wife with the farm, maintaining it, and helping with the crops that he grew. Down on the road where he fell, he was remembered by the Cappies making a small stack of stones with seeds lain across it, to which they would place seed on daily to allow Thomas to enjoy the birds that benefited from his shrine.


The wind was cold as snowflakes whipped through the air like frozen razors. A blizzard was blowing in, and could be seen on the horizon across the icy tundra. Great, white clouds flowed from the northern scene, soon to blanket the red-stained terrain and cold bodies in the storm’s path. The sea to the north was sloshing with icebergs, and the wind crashed great chunks of ice against each other which cracked and shattered as loud as thunder. A figure moved through the knee-high snow across the tundra, away from a blood-soaked battlefield. The only survivor of the brutal fighting. In his own wake, he left a trail of crimson snow, courtesy of the wound on his torso. He saw the blizzard in the distance, and knew that it would be his death. His only salvation would be the mountain to the west of the battle. If he couldn’t climb high enough to avoid the worst of the snowfall, perhaps he could find a cave to shelter in, he thought. Skjold was his name. A name that was given to him by his mother, in hopes that one day he would become a great warrior worthy of a name that meant “shield”. But the blood pouring from his waist made him feel undeserving of it. As many in the harsh northern lands were pressed into service by the numerous warlords, he was made to believe he would return a conquering hero. Instead, fate seemed fit to let him die in the cold tundra. Due to this, a question repeated itself in his mind. Why did he press on? He was hopeless, wounded, near death. He shook off the doubt. Succumbing to despair would kill him faster than the cold. If he was not to survive, he would make every effort to spite fate. As Skjold stepped onto the foot of the mountain, the winds picked up whilst he traversed the shallow incline. The softer snow was more difficult to walk on, and the battle had already exhausted him. Above the gray clouds that hanged low in the sky, the sun was already beginning to set. It was still light enough to keep the wolves confined to their lairs, but the light would not last long. As the walk took him further up the mountain, his sweat began to freeze to his face and under his jack as well as inside his socks. His feet were numb. What few chin-hairs he had were beginning to form glassy beads that melted as fast as they froze. Skjold pulled the hood of his thick woolen cloak further down over his head and lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose. His breath thawed his face, even if his posture had to remain awkward as he climbed. It was a grueling hour of walking as the incline slowly increased. The blizzard drew ever closer, but his salvation was within sight. With shivering hands, he crawled up a small outcropping and found himself at the mouth of a small icy cavern. At last! Desperately, Skjold ran into the shelter and collapsed, finally free of the chilling winds. He would have seen fit to curl into a ball and wait out the blizzard, warmth finally returning to his hands and feet. But he felt eyes on his back before he could strip off his boots. Deeper inside the cave, he heard a low, quiet growl. Startled, he turned to see a pair of golden eyes in the cave behind him. Beneath the eyes, in the dim shadow of the cave and the waning illumination provided by the darkening sky outside, he saw the white shapes of fangs glistening with saliva. Instinctively, Skjold reached for the axe in his belt and held it high above his head, threateningly. He shouted and growled at the wolf in a vain attempt to scare it away, he was in no shape to fight the predator. Undeterred, it stalked closer to him and pounced, jaws gnashing towards his face. It knocked him onto his back, and Skjold wrestled with the creature. In a moment of desperation, he recalled a technique his father told him of. Curling his hand into a fist, he thrusted a punch into the wolf’s mouth and forced his hand into the back of its throat. The animal thrashed and made gagging noises, but he kept his hand in its maw as he struggled to free his axe from the wolf’s weight pinning it to his chest. The wolf stamped its claws onto his wound more than once, and pain shot through Skjold’s body each time. The predator’s breath warmed his hand, and with the return of feeling came pain as he felt its teeth rip the skin from his flesh. Finally, he pulled his axe free and slammed the blunt against his foe’s head. It yelped, and he freed his bloody fist from the wolf’s throat. Taking the axe in both hands, he bludgeoned the creature in the eye, and it went limp atop him. Skjold pushed the unconscious animal off of his body, breathing heavily. He stood, sucking enough air into his tired lungs to release a weak cry of victory. The instant it left his lips, he heard more growls deeper within the tunnel. His stomach sank with dread as he saw more wolves appear from the darkness. In a moment of panic, he yelled at the creatures and threw his axe-- his only weapon-- at the pack. The wolves scurried aside the weapon, giving Skjold enough time to throw himself back out into the snowy mountainside. The cold washed over him, and in an adrenaline-fueled frenzy he clawed and tore his way up the sheer rock outcropping the cave led into. When he finally summitted the crag, he fell onto his back as his muscles screamed in pain. His left hand was slicked with blood. More of his precious life flowed from it and froze to his skin. The corners of his vision blurred as the snow continued to fall onto his slowly dying body. With great effort, he pushed himself to his feet. Immediately, the wind whipped into a howl and snow began to batter him. He was too late; the blizzard had arrived. He couldn’t return to the cavern, not unarmed. The sky grew yet darker. It was night, and what light could be salvaged from the moon was snuffed by the massive clouds overhead. Following the incline of the mountain, Skjold continued further up. He clung to no distant childhood memory to keep himself motivated. He had no young sweetheart in his village to keep his aching legs moving. Even the spark of fury in his soul had died out, he felt no motive to spite the gods, or fate. In truth, he did not know why he marched on. An hour later, his vision was blinded by the haze of snowfall. His ears were deafened by the howling of the wind. Darkness of the night shrouded what little he could see. But with the darkness, he was able to see something through the snow. A golden glow, hidden amongst the trees and much further up the mountain than he could walk. A camp? A cabin? He did not know, but the spark of hope burned brightest in his heart. He couldn’t die here, not so close to safety! With his muscles burning yet numb at the same time, he shot towards the light as fast as the thick snow could permit him to move. He pulled himself up the incline using tree branches and exposed stones for handholds, but his vision blurred more as he came closer. He saw that the light was a lantern, sitting on the porch of a cabin. With a strained cry of effort, Skjold sprinted uphill and tripped on a stone. He fell face-first into a snow bank, and felt a rush of warmth in his body. Rather than relief, this sensation brought him fear. It meant he was succumbing to the cold. He found no strength in his arms to bring himself to his feet. With his last ounce of will, he crawled through the snow and barely reached the stairs to the porch of the cabin. His will gone, Skjold rested his head onto the stairs of the porch and passed out from the exhaustion of his climb.