Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
It lifts its eyes to me, and I see that they are lit with the need for vengeance. The other is not far behind it. They both draw hatchets, and swig potions that create a quick glowing effect around their bodies.
“You killedses him,” they hiss. “Now you dies.”
It sounds fair. I never thought I’d ever do something absolutely heinous and entirely unredeemable, but here I am, saturated with the deepest kind of guilt. It seems reasonable that they would want to kill me. It almost seems reasonable that I would let them.
I don’t have a spear anymore. That’s still inside the dead kobold. I left my axe in the bush. I have my bare hands and nothing else.
They approach me with their hatchets raised. I freeze. I close my eyes. I wait for it to hurt, and then to end.
The sound of my heart in my ears drowns out the sound of large wings overhead, but nothing could ever be louder than the raging cry of a massive dragon hanging over us in the sky, wings extended, golden scales gleaming, mouth opened wide in protective fury.
Flame explodes from the dragon, two targeted bursts of intense heat that hit the kobolds dead center, knocking them away from me. Then he follows with a glut of fire, which turns them into near instant cinders.
Have I been rescued? Is there any such thing as rescue in this world that contains such raw brutality?
The dragon lowers toward me. I take cover, knowing there is nowhere to run. It could burn the forest around me if I made it angry, and once that happened it would be a horrific end. Best to stay still and accept whatever fate has in store for me.
The creature is beyond beautiful. It is flying art, every individual scale a gorgeous work in and of itself. It is also large, large enough that the trees it chooses to land in bend and snap like grass being stepped on.
I stare, stunned, shocked, and unable to respond in any way as the creature rapidly shrinks upon landing, and a tall raven-haired man steps toward me.
Ornix.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified, surrounded by the charred debris of my mistakes.
He is wearing scaled armor from head to toe, shining bright in the clearing made by the destruction of his dragon fire. Every stride seems to bring him many, many feet closer to me, like the world moves under him when he walks, and not the other way around.
He grips me by the chin.
“You do not run,” he says. “To run in this world is to invite death. Do you know how close you were to being shot with arrows that would have torn you to pieces, hacked to death by kobolds? Even burned by a stray flame catching the wind the wrong way? You almost died three separate times today even as I tried to save you from mortality itself. Do you have a wish for oblivion? Do you desire to be cast into the underworld? Consumed by the soul eater? Is your essence destined to be snuffed out?”
“I killed someone,” I sob. “I think I might deserve to die.”
“As a greater man than me once said, there are those who do not deserve life who have it, and there are many who deserve it who do not, so it does not matter.”
“I don’t think that’s what he said. Not even close.”
“Well. Regardless. I do not care what you think you deserve, you will stay alive because I will it, if nothing else. You are mine. Your life belongs to me. Your body belongs to me. As does your happiness, which you will rediscover one day, but not today. Today you will atone for daring to deprive me of what I own.”
I tremble in his grasp, and under the weight of his words. He means every single one of them. He truly believes I belong to him. I suppose I should have realized that already, but hearing him declare it so completely and emphatically makes it sink into my bones.
He is not done with his lectures. In fact, he is only just beginning. He keeps my head tilted up toward him, but he continues to speak.
“What did you think you were doing? Stealing a horse, coming to this dangerous forest? Killing the inhabitants who never did you any harm? What kind of a little monster are you?”
Tears leak out of my eyes, running down my face. There’s some version of this story where he swoops in to comfort me, tells me that it doesn’t matter that I ineptly slaughtered a kobold, he doesn’t care about anything as long as I am safe. But that’s a delusional version. This, again, is starting to bite in a very real way.
“I thought it would be easier to kill him. I thought it would hurt less. I thought it would be cleaner. I thought I was supposed to. That’s usually what you have to do when you start the game.”