Their souls, their psyches, their flesh, and the very essence of their being... these were entities torn asunder. All these vessels, the minds that once resided within, the spirits that dwelled inside—they were but a crucible devised by the aged sage. The war within them never ceased its eruption, much like a volcano awaiting the cold punishment of nature. Madness had been distilled into a concentrated malice within this threshold land—a realm of a thousand myths, a thousand monoliths, and a thousand tongues. These elements served as a sieve, straining them away from the untainted spirits, severing them from those who truly deserved the gift of life...
"Vion... "
Helm... he regained consciousness of his own existence once more. The Silver-Blooded Lady had vanished into the dahlia petals of a parched insanity. Of the spirit that once was, only he remained to perceive—at the very least—the sensation of being. Cognition... the thought and the desperate clinging to this memory in the deepest abyss of the soul... An archer upon a battlefield of a splintered world... a dweller in every fray of His Majesty the King...
"I should not be here... "
Once, he might have been a mere mercenary... perhaps a simple hunter. And now, the vision manifesting before him—Helm—ignited a strange, haunting nostalgia. In the days of his silence... the warmth from this hearth felt so familiar it was terrifying.
"Why did you save me, you wretched human?" Helm turned toward the voice, dripping with pure loathing.
The eyes of the speaker shimmered, reflecting the light of a lone, solitary moon. Her body was white and translucent, like fractured glass. The wings of this pitiable demi-spirit fae had been cruelly torn away... She sat before the bounty hunter upon a withered stump. Her form still reeked heavily of a vengeful aura. He had laid no hand upon her since... then.
Because of the cloak she used to shroud her fragile body—delicate as charred paper—the cloak she had received from him, it was enough for "a man" to deliver a little fae, a slave to indulgence, from a commerce that should never befall any living creature.
"Stubborn to the end. I know what humans like you think. You're no different from the rest of them. You only intend to take me to another place, and that is all." Helm did not offer a retort to the pitiable fae. The voice in his throat felt like a relic of the past within this nostalgic reverie. He merely watched the fire. Though his body felt no confusion as it had already adapted, his current self was drifting within the currents of a memory-land born from his own essence...
The crackle and pop of the burning wood filled the air. The pitiable fae fell silent, following the lead of the lonely bounty hunter.
"Though a fae like you has no need for slumber, yet... closing your eyes for a while might help you—" Helm fell silent as he caught sight of the tears upon the wingless fae's cheeks. He looked at both his hands... as if he were being interfered with. Yet, this memory made him loath to leave.
"I... I do not care... At the very least, I beg of you, do not sell me to a merchant on the morrow... I no longer wish to be treated as a beast. I do not want to be in a dark room, hugging myself in the deepest corner of a slave pen while vile rats gnaw at my rotting nails. I still wish to gaze upon the light, even if the night is dark... for at least I can still see the moon, which I... have not seen for so long." Her voice was a ragged tremor, her eyes fixed upon the sky, never wavering.
The wretched fae's voice shivered. Tears bathed her cheeks, though she uttered not a single sob. Her translucent body, like clouded white glass, revealed internal organs that had partially vanished—the aftermath of being a fae whose spirit was trampled until both body and soul were shattered. Tortured, tormented... an agony beyond measure. The vileness of humanity would seep into a fae so abused... a victim of the small creatures who call themselves "noble beasts," despite being so foolish they should never have been born at all.
Those brutes in the guise of two-legged, two-armed, one-headed creatures... those loathsome humans who still dare to call themselves "noble."
"Hmph, I understand... But at the very least, I want you to be at peace, knowing you are safe here. If you do not sleep, then I shall not sleep, little fae... I will stay awake so that your mind may find rest." Helm spoke with a weary tone, as if exhausted to the point of collapse. He lowered his hands and reached for a haunch of wild venison; it smelled of the wild, yet was as sweet as honey, an irresistible scent. He snapped it like a drumstick and offered it to her. "Little fae... " she whispered to herself.
"Can you eat this, little fae?" Helm spoke to the fae who remained suspicious and wary of the tall man. In her eyes, even while sitting, he loomed as tall as she. Sitting on the earth, eating amidst the dust, drinking in the wild, burning fire upon the soil. The sound from his mouth was the savory crunch of him chewing the venison, stray hairs and all.
"I have no need for sustenance. For a fae... can exist without consuming anything at all. Not like... humans, who still crave food, crave sensation, and... perversion. That is what I see within humanity. I once knew happiness in a land that humans and many races yearned for, yet could never find... " she spoke as if drifting into another trance.
Her eyes were fixed on the starlight. The voice of the little fae carried tears as part of its essence, mingled with a profound sorrow. She touched her tattered, torn wings. Her withered, translucent hands were so thin that even a gentle touch to her wings caused her hands to ache. She tried to stop fearing; she tried to trust. But... she could not do it, not in the slightest. She did not even reach out to accept the mercy of the bounty hunter.
"Then why did you not flee from me when you had the chance?" Helm asked, though it felt as if it were not he who spoke. He was not accustomed to such words at all.
"I carried you out from the depths of that dungeon, bore you upon my shoulders, cradled you so you would not hurt... I may never truly understand your feelings, little fae. However... since I have said you are safe here, do not be anxious." Helm froze internally. It was as if the sentence he had just uttered did not belong to him. But... was this truly him in the past? The foul-mouthed man had once been just a man of mercy, filled with questions regarding his own deeds...
And as doubt began to take root—"Li... little... fae... " Helm attempted to reach out, but a deafening roar in his mind, as if his brain were about to explode, held him back. His hand contorted, just as the image of the little fae before him began to warp, like seaweed caught in a whirlpool. She screamed for Helm to hear, but though he answered blindly, thinking this moment would last forever, he was gravely mistaken. The past never permits one to drown in it for long, yet he still chose to view it as something worth sinking into...
The heavy thud of a hunter's footsteps replaced the image of the forest—dark, beautiful to the point of heartache. The violent rasp of a beast's breath dragged Helm, the tower archer, back from the visions of purple and white-gold stars far off in a universe splintering like a wildfire. It was magnificent, radiant, like priceless diamonds beneath layers of worlds, millions of them, ascending and descending...
Those images... vanished along with the pitiable little fae.
"You've played a hell of a trick on me, you flaming old bastard!!!" Helm bellowed after surveying his surroundings: a derelict armory. He recognized it because bows hung on either side of the room, high above for someone of his towering stature to reach. Crates were scattered haphazardly, filled with swords, axes, spears, hammers, and staves.
The ancient armory of a strange tribe. There were rats and spider-centipede hybrids the size of a palm crawling over his leather boots, slithering like snakes in a horror film. Skeletons of many races lined the long corridor. At the end of the hall stood a single door, flanked by ruins that pressed against it like a symbol of atonement. Some of these bones had skulls difficult to describe; from one angle they looked like serpents, from another, like gavials. Some were so hideous their corruption was evident even in bone...
A place like a realm of precious magic... rare and brimming with extraordinary resources. Helm observed more deeply as he took every step, treading through the dust with caution. He heard the whispers of the fae, though they had grown faint. Lush green roots sprouted, bearing flowers that resembled lilies at their center, interspersed with long-petaled orchids of orange and dark green shades. Brown thickets coiled around the pillars that held up the armory...
"YOU! ALL OF YOU! TRESPASSERS! ENTERING! MY! DOMAIN!" A shout, half-roar and half-wolf's howl, echoed from afar, accompanied by the frantic flapping of wings. The birds, seen from a distance, did not recede from Helm's sight; instead, they chose to fly toward him with increasing speed. They approached like a hail of bullets. He hadn't even cleared the door...
He dashed to hide behind the door frame as the birds tore past him through the gaps. Helm inhaled sharply; he was strangely exhausted, despite having slaughtered monsters to near extinction moments ago. Was he tired because of the haunting memories, or simply because he was not yet brave enough to accept certain spirits within himself?
Skritch... Scratch... "Run away, Sir Helm." The talkative archer fell silent, one hand clutching his chest to stifle his breathing. He steadied his mind and swiftly drew his bow from his back. Beneath his deer-skull helm, his face—marked by more history than one could hope to read—remained calm, despite his obsession and the lingering interference of the spirit.
Creak... "Run away... " The whisper of the little fae... it echoed as if in a square chamber. Yet Helm sat, waiting for the footsteps of the beast. And when the sound of its breath drew near, he drew his bow above his head.
"Come on then!! You hell-beast!" The confrontation began—yet, there was nothing. The red arrow pierced through the decaying roof. The sound of the beast's footsteps diverted elsewhere. Had he escaped, or did it simply not care because it sensed something else, something with an aura far more dangerous than anything else could rival?
"The Land Between... a true invasion... The thick crust is starting to crack. Damn it, damn it all." Helm stowed his bow and grabbed a flask of liquor, taking several long swigs, before the obsessed archer sensed... Him... and those footsteps drawing closer...
"Hard to kill indeed. Befitting of one who could withstand my arrows. Ha! Unbelievable, damn it!"