The Chosen One stared at Rodrick. Rodrick stared back.
"Guess it's just you and me, pal."
"Guess it is."
Rodrick was quite tall and burly. He didn't seem to be someone Gwyn would ever want to cross paths with. Yet, she argued with him like he was a small dog.
"Do you just… stand here all night?"
"Yes, madam. I don't need much sleep. Also, this will be cake considering some of the other assignments I've had. Did you know one time that—"
Gwyn held up a hand.
"I'm going inside now."
Gwyn wasn't entirely confident in his ability. She stepped inside and locked the door behind her. She looked around, and the room was sparsely furnished with a thin layer of dust coating everything. It seemed there wasn't any time to clean for Gwyn's arrival.
She then went to every room in the house and made sure all the windows and doors leading to the outside were locked. Once that was done, she checked every closet, every space under the bed to make sure she was entirely alone. Once she was, she finally felt safe.
Now and again, she would peek out of the upper floor's bedroom to see if Rodrick was still there, and he was. Unmoving as a statue.
Maybe I judged him too harshly.
She went to the master bedroom, a large room with a king-sized bed, of course, covered in red. Everything seemed to have a red theme among the Kosmairians. Gwyn wondered about the historical significance of their colors.
Maybe a sense of pride?
The bed was comfortable as she lay down and stared at the ceiling.
They could have at least pretended they used this place. Artero made such a big deal about doing this, but this place had been abandoned.
After ruminating for thirty minutes, her stomach decided it was time for a snack of some sort. In the kitchen was a storeroom that functioned similarly to a refrigerator. The room was enchanted to be a walk-in freezer, so it was very cold once you stepped inside, but room temperature once you stepped out. The elves were quite clever, using magic to invent scientific counterparts to appliances back on Earth.
She found a berry compote and a spoon to enjoy her snack. As she was walking up the stairs, a noise startled her. Whoever it was wasn't trying to be silent. Gwyn stealthily approached the room. Spoon in mouth, ready to shout if it were an intruder.
A familiar-looking black furred feline with three eyes and a three-pronged tail.
"Mordecai?" The cat chirped as it kneaded its paws into the bed. "How did you get here?"
Gwyn looked around for an open window or any sign of a disturbance. But the cat was simply here when it wasn't moments ago.
She lovingly petted its head as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"Wanted to keep me company, huh?"
It chirped again, as if to answer her. Mordecai was extremely affectionate, and once Gwyn lay down after finishing her compote, she slept on her back. Moments later, Mordecai curled up on her chest, purring loudly.
"Thanks, Mordecai."
As she looked at the stand with the empty compote cup. She couldn't help but think about the photo of her family beside her dad's nightstand.
An image of him panicking once he realized Gwyn wasn't home entered her brain. She pressed against her eyes as if to rub the mental picture of his face full of terror out of her brain. There was no way of knowing if he was okay.
Surely, by now, he realized that she wouldn't be found. And then Gwyn wondered if this was what happened in most unsolved missing-person cases. They are plucked from their world and dragged to another place with the hopes that they'll be the hero they need: a sweet thought, one far more charming than reality.
Moments later, the soft sounds of Mordecai's purrs lulled Gwyn to sleep.
Daylight was still hours away, and Gwyn reached for her glasses. It was pitch-black in the room, with only a faint stream of moonlight illuminating the bedroom. She fumbled around the dark for a means to light something, and an orange glow in a room caught her attention.
Was this always lit?
She picked up the candle and moved through the darkness.
Mordecai was nowhere to be seen. Looking down from the window, she checked to see if Rodrick was still there, and he was. Unmoving.
"Guess Artero kept his promise."
A room that appeared to be a study had a singular book on the desk, with a thin layer of dust on its surface.
The cover read "Tales of Keceo," featuring an elf sitting cross-legged, looking tranquil and relaxed.
She flipped to the first page and read by candlelight in the darkness.
Tales of Keceo is a book that describes some of the most popular stories from our history. As a scholar, I have collected some of the most interesting stories I have found within other tales, which will be referenced to indicate their origin before the reading begins—credit where it is due.
Gwyn smiled at the honesty.
Most of these stories are children's stories that most of our people should know. However, for those who don't, I hope you enjoy it. The Red Death has claimed a significant portion of our literature and history. Let us not forget our past, or we will be doomed to repeat it. Let the whispers guide you.
The last sentence caused Gwyn to pause.
What could that mean?
She flipped the page past the author's note and read the first story. She turned ahead, and it was only two pages long, so she figured maybe she would read a couple of these and then go back to bed.
The First Flame
The title immediately intrigued Gwyn; she wondered if this would be about Deathfire or whatever her name was.
Magic was a sacrifice given to Keceo. Something discovered, not gifted.
One night, a search party of elves looked for a missing child in the Blackened Mountains. The Blackened Mountains are given that name for the black snow that sometimes falls from the sky.
When the black snow sleeps, do not go to the peak. A rhyme mothers told their children to keep them from playing where they did not belong.
That rhyme had been ignored that day.
A young woman searched for a missing child. She was not the only one. A dozen elves accompanied her in helping find this lost child.
Hours passed, and the limbs of her fellow search party turned black and useless as the snow around them was for warmth. Those present were so cold that they felt as though they were on fire. Some of the elves' companions stripped their clothing, running off into the blizzard, never to be seen again.
The young woman became so cold that she could barely move. She prayed for the Gods to save her and the missing child. But they didn't. With her prayers unanswered, she cursed her companions who abandoned her, then cursed the Gods for doing the same.
She continued to trudge through the black snow, and she happened upon a cave. Alone and afraid, she stepped within.
The black snow slid off her winter robes as she patted herself free of the onyx ice. She shivered, blowing into her hands, waiting for the blizzard to pass, but it seemed as though it would go on forever.
A noise from within the cave startled her, and she backed towards the entrance. A short creature emerged from the darkness, flames in its eyes. They were naked except for a mask that bore the resemblance of a Kindread beast.
"Stay away from me!"
The woman shouted, but the gray, cold creature stood at the edge of the darkness, looking down.
"Fire," it said, pointing at itself. "Fire. Fire. Fire."
"There is no fire," The woman said, arms clutching her freezing body.
"Fire, fire." It pointed to her. "I am Fire, you are Fire."
The woman didn't know what it meant. But then the darkness surrounded them. The freezing was gone, and she was in an inky black domain.
"Fire."
The word whispered all around her. Different voices, different creatures, different languages.
It was all she could hear; she saw a red-orange flame dancing behind her tears.
She felt the fire form, for cold she did not mourn.
She saw it turn wood to ash. She saw the flames grow larger fast,
until they consumed all of the darkness, revealing an orange garden.
Once she understood the flames, she knew she wasn't far then.
"Fire. Connection. Rhyme. Fire. Connection. Rhyme."
Over and over, those words repeated as the image became clearer in her mind.
She could see the flames and reach out to feel their pain.
Burn her flesh if she wanted to.
Revealing an image, hidden from truth.
She closed her eyes and said.
"Flame, save me from this frost, so I can help the child lost!"
And a weak flame set the creature on fire.
It smiled in the pain as they turned into kindling, fulfilling their desire.
She waited out the black blizzard, warm in the confines of the cave.
When the sun was high above her, she continued her search for the child she'd come to save.
Only to hear the cries come from deeper in the cave.
It was the child! Safe and sound, somehow, but in pain.
They returned down the Blackened Mountain pass with the power of words.
The Elven kind was now equipped with the knowledge of connection that it now serves.
Fire. Connection. Rhyme: Is what our people are taught
to begin using magic and spawn reality from thoughts.
"Huh. Fire, connection, rhyme?"
Gwyn looked at the candle, noticing how the flames seemed only to reach so far, constantly fighting the darkness around them. She saw how the flame's strength weakened the farther one got from the source. How the colors subtly changed. How the flame moved irregularly.
It felt as though she was seeing fire for the first time. Something she had taken for granted or never really thought about before. It was beautiful, but when she reached out to touch it, it burned her finger. She sucked on the wound, unsure why she'd done that.
It helped her understand, whether she knew it or not.