"Why does everyone in Othia wear medieval attire?" Sage asked as they trudged through the bushes. "Is this region imitating medieval times?"
Fynn flipped his verdant cape. "It's simply part of the culture. Even those in cities dress like this."
"Why?"
"As a region, we place much importance on fighting. The high-tech weapons are based on medieval arms, so wearing medieval clothing only fits."
"An importance on fighting? Is that why some guy instigated a duel against me when I first arrived?"
Fynn halted. "Weaver?"
"You know him?"
"Every Othian fears Weaver." Fynn turned to him. "You see, Othia prides itself in being an open battle region. Unlike Promise, your region, we don't have a lot of cities or towns. In exchange, we cherish a region of untarnished nature. It's a grand area in which people battle each other, all to place stats on the Othian leaderboard."
"The battle areas—are they called roaming zones?"
"Correct."
"Where's Weaver on the leaderboard?"
"I'll show you." Fynn took the bow off Sage's back, activated its screen, and navigated to a menu displaying a list of fighters (his original bow didn't have the feature). Beside the fighters' names, information such as their weapon, elimination count, and number of encounters showed. Weaver topped the leaderboard with a successful encounter rate of 89 percent. The next highest was 62 percent. Most of his eliminations fell under a category classified as assassination.
"So Ayrelle teleported me into a recreational war zone." Sage crossed his arms. "Where I'm from, battles are confined to school sports and leagues. Eliminating someone in the open carries a hefty fine."
Fynn nodded. "We only have fines like that in our cities. Everyone fears Weaver because of his reliance on stealth. No one ever knows if he's nearby and waiting for a chance to strike."
"When he assailed me, he demanded I drop my weapon."
"Only an idiot would agree to that. I fell for it once."
"Really?"
"He accosted me during my first trip to Othia's roam zone, a few years back. I was scared out of my mind—I've always hated paralysis—so I gave my weapon to him. He still eliminated me. Took forever to get another one."
"Why roam if you hate stasis?"
"Perhaps my younger sister had been calling me a coward."
"What, is she better than you?"
"Oh, by miles. She's impressive. I'm just one of the worst fighters you'll ever encounter."
"You don't seem like an inept fighter to me."
"Heard that before. You'll see for yourself if you stick around long enough."
"Guess I'll take your word for it." He tilted his head. "Is Carnatia's conflict with Magmelia part of the Othian game?"
"Unfortunately, our conflict is real. Othia's leaders highly disapprove of it. They think we're stuck in the past. Honestly, we are. Battles, kidnappings, destruction of land—all those things happen because of our hostility. Disenfranchising each other is difficult when no can die."
"Sounds like you all need a hero." Sage smirked. "How close are we to Carnatia?"
"We're nearing it." Fynn paused. "I think."
"You think?"
"I've lost my sense of direction. I shouldn't have stopped to talk." Fynn eyed the forest, rested his hands atop his head, and paced around.
"You can't remember where your home domain is?" Sage asked, a little irritated.
Fynn nodded. "As I said, I have a condition."
"It's a strange condition. Maybe try writing some notes for yourself."
Sage opened his map. His eyes narrowed. He found Carnatia, but he could not discern his current location. He showed the map to Fynn, who shook his head.
Sage returned the map to his pocket. "I guess we'll wander around and hope we end up somewhere."
"Lead the way."
He drifted through the forest, searching for any sign of civilization. He only found trees. After several minutes, lavenders no longer covered the forest floor. It was just dirt now. A rotten air set in. Sage gave a scowl as unwelcoming as the dying bark of the trees.
"Is that normal?" He pointed at a leaf that was melting into black liquid.
Fynn stared at it as if offended. "Not at all. The forest is supposed to become lusher as you approach Carnatia."
"At least you remember that." Sage turned around. "Let's backtrack and—"
"Last warning!" a harsh voice said somewhere ahead. "Divulge the location of the anti-teleportation device, or you will wish for an elimination!"
"Chill your anger, okay?" a second voice said, one familiar to Sage. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why don't we part ways in good spirits?"
"Is that Weaver?" Sage glanced at Fynn, who nodded.
An amplifying shrill like a tornado siren pierced the air. "Stop playing around! You don't realize the harm my connections can cause to you and whoever you care about!"
"Nice lance," Weaver said. "Was it a gift from your sister who despises you?"
"You know nothing. Still your tongue, lest I destroy your barrier with its sheer power."
"Aww, shadow boy wants to assert dominance. You can't destroy my barrier, not fully."
"Keep talking. I'll shatter it in a split second."
"You think I'm scared of you?" Weaver hissed. "If I wind up missing, my allies will raid everything you have. I've got connections, too."
"As if. You can't fool me."
Weaver mimicked his voice. "As if. Shadow boy doesn't know anything."
"This is pointless." Shadow boy growled. "If you don't tell me the location of the device, I will teach you fear and pain."
"Teach me. I'm waiting."
The shrill dropped into a deep vibration, causing the ground to quake. Absolute darkness veiled the night. An explosion roared. Sage and Fynn covered their ears. The darkness soon subsided.
"What the hell?" Sage asked.
"Explosions like that don't happen in normal, safe battles." Fynn drew his sword. "Weaver needs our help."
He charged ahead. Sage readied his bow before following him. They hid behind a few trees and peeked their heads out. Weaver was lying unconscious in a shallow river. A tall, slim boy a little older than Sage stood nearby. A birthmark like an ashen smear tainted his cheek. He wore a royal coat darker than a night's sky, its edges adorned with luminescent purple tassels. His black lance flaunted several blades around its main head.
Before Weaver could turn to dust, shadow boy procured an old piece of parchment from his coat. He tapped it against his ashy birthright and tossed it over Weaver. It burst into a flurry of purple strands that sped into Weaver's chest. Weaver's body jerked, froze, and flashed mauve. Shadow boy heaved him over his shoulder.
"He cancelled Weaver's disintegration," Fynn whispered.
Sage's eyes went wide. "His parchment—what kind of technology is it?"
"Sorcery!"
"That can't be right. Are we going to help Weaver?"
"Of course. Cancelling a disintegration is practically a crime."
Rapier pointed forward, Fynn rushed towards the river. Upon seeing him, shadow boy threw Weaver into the water and readied his lance. Swirls of hissing, black fire formed at the apex of its blades.
Fynn halted. Shadow boy thrust his lance forward, launching the flames at him. They crashed a few feet in front of Fynn, who leapt away desperately. Sage winced as a boom shook everything. The night turned pitch black. When the darkness faded away, Fynn was sprawled on the opposite side of the river.
"Where did you come from, fool?" Shadow boy examined him. "Are you one of Weaver's connections?"
"Er, what did you say?" Fynn writhed, his voice languid.
"Are you affiliated with—"
"Who are you?" Aiming an arrow at shadow boy, Sage stepped into the open. "Ayrelle says I have to save the world. Are you part of the problem?"
Shadow boy shot the sky a discontent look. "Curse your interference! And what did you say about Ayrelle?"
Sage paused, realizing it might be foolish to reveal his appointment. "I said Ayrelle would impale you on a sword for messing with the disintegration process."
"You know nothing about Ayrelle." Shadow boy spat on the ground. "I hold no issues with you, wannabe hero. Let me take this thief, and I will spare you from my darkness."
"You're shady. I won't let you leave with anyone."
Shadow boy just sucked his teeth. He stroked the mark on his cheek—the ashen smear emanated dark, wispy energy—and raised his hand to the sky. Black smoke flowed from his palms and surrounded his body. Then, after chuckling at Sage, he vanished.
Sage's eyes widened. He aimed his bow at random spots, hoping to shoot shadow boy wherever he appeared. His surprise soon morphed into frustration. It didn't seem fair that someone could nullify an archer's honed precision by disappearing into thin air.
Meanwhile, Fynn stumbled to his feet. He raised his eyebrows and, with a shout, pointed somewhere behind the appointed hero. Sage whirled around.
"Perish!" Shadow boy emerged from the air, lunging. Sage leapt back and fired an arrow hastily. It sped into shadow boy's leg. The impact caused him to fall to the ground. Cursing, he rolled away from Sage's next shot and jumped to his feet. He sprinted at the archer, readying his lance to impale him. Sage ran away like a rat.
Fynn sheathed his rapier, charged between the two combatants, and grasped shadow boy's lance. Mouth going agape, shadow boy thrust the blades at Fynn's stomach, trying to stab him—Fynn wrenched the lance upwards, deflecting the attack, and jerked it out of shadow boy's hands.
"Disarm successful." Fynn pointed the lance at the boy's stomach. "How do I fire a dark explosion?"
Shadow boy raised his palms. "How did this go so wrong?"
"Don't run." Not ashamed that he had to flee, Sage aimed an arrow at him. "Tell us your name."
"Why would I?"
Sage smirked. "Or we won't return your lance."
Shadow boy paused and visibly clenched his teeth. "Graham is my name. There's nothing more to me."
"You cancelled Weaver's disintegration, so you must be involved with evil. Who do you serve?"
"As if I would tell you."
"We're keeping your lance, then."
"You'll return it either way!" He beckoned Fynn for his lance. "My sister gave that to me!"
Sage chuckled. "That's cute. Do we care?"
"I told you my name. Isn't that enough?" Graham glared at Fynn.
Fynn closed his eyes. "Sage, my apologies, but I must hold you to your word."
He returned the lance to Graham, who tilted his head. Then, his expression going calm, he admired his weapon before fastening it to his back.
Sage lowered his eyebrows. "Why would you do that?"
"You made an offer: his name for his lance," Fynn said. "Did he not fulfill his end of the agreement?"
"I never made that offer. I said if he didn't give his name, then I wouldn't return his weapon. You didn't let me get to the extra requirements that he needed to fulfill to get his lance back."
"What kind of extra requirements?"
"The requirement of not being shady."
Fynn sighed. "Point is, he wouldn't have given his name if he knew he wasn't going to get his lance back."
"Does it matter? You returned an enemy's weapon."
"You're a hero. You shouldn't employ such deceptive tactics."
"Ugh, maybe you should be the hero."
Graham turned his back on them. "Shut up, wannabes. I'm leaving."
"I can't let you." Sage drew an arrow. "With that parchment of yours, you're far too dangerous."
"Am I giving you a choice?" Graham vanished in a burst of ash. Sage fired the arrow in his general direction, but it only stuck into a tree. A laugh arose as rustling footsteps faded into the forest. Sage shook his head and hurried to Weaver, whose body remained surrounded by a purple aura.
"Are you awake?" Sage nudged his side. Weaver stared at him intently. Somehow, though he was in the middle of paralysis, Weaver twitched his hand over his pocket. Sage fished in it and procured a glass globe full of golden sparkles. No bigger than his palm, it rested perfectly in his grip. As he admired the globe, his artist eyes grew brighter than its dancing, weightless sparkles.
Fynn said, "Break it.".
"Are you serious?" Sage furrowed his eyebrows.
"Any better ideas?" Fynn swiped the globe, held it over Weaver's body, and shattered it with a clench of his hand. Its shards dissolved into silver dust as they fell. The golden sparkles enveloped the dust, and the two morphed into spirals of platinum and gold that twisted into Weaver's heart.
His barrier consumed the spirals before glowing with a fleeting silver. Its typical golden color soon returned. He got to his feet and stretched.
"Twitching my hand during stasis was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said. "Good thing you were smart enough to use my recovery orb."
Sage narrowed his eyes. "Care to explain why Graham almost kidnapped you, thief?"
Weaver held his chest, as if offended. "Thief? I'm an assassin, not a thief. How'd you get that impression?"
"You just look like a thief."
"I try my best." Weaver smirked. "Anyway, we can talk about troubled shadow boy later. I haven't even thanked you yet. You're Gardeia, right?"
"Totally."
Fynn cleared his throat. "You'd never find Gardeia in Carnatia, Weaver. Plus, Gardeia is a girl."
"That's not a girl?" Weaver pointed his thumb at Sage, who exhaled.
"With a voice as deep as his, that question isn't even worth asking."
"Just kidding. It's just that I've only met two people who seriously use a bow, and they both look like pretty celebrities. Sage, right?"
Sage nodded. "Who's Gardeia?
"Best archer in Othia." He gestured at Fynn. "But most people consider his sister to be the overall best."
"Aren't you top of the leaderboard, though?"
"Yeah, when it comes to sheer number of kills. Thing is, no one considers the kills of a dirty assassin to be worth anything. His sister plays as fair as you can get at the top levels."
Sage rubbed his chin. "She sounds like big game."
"You're telling me. If I assassinate her, the overall value of my stats will skyrocket because of her own stats. Where's she at, big guy?"
Fynn shook his head. "You'll have to find her. She never tells me where she goes."
"It's sad how much she doesn't want to be associated with you."
"Let's not talk about that."
"You still haven't told us why Graham was after you." Sage crossed his arms.
Weaver quieted his voice. "I can't tell you much."
"Tell me everything." He tapped his marked wrist. "I'm the appointed hero, after all."
"You're still trying to sell me that?"
"It's not my fault she didn't bestow a grander mark."
He shook his head. "Just know that Graham is a bad guy affiliated with bad people. Capeesh?"
"Is that all you'll tell me?"
"Yup." He held his hand above Sage's head. "You're too far below the magnitude of this conflict. You wouldn't even want to hear about it."
Sage pushed his hand aside. "Can you explain Graham's parchment and your restoration orb? I'm pretty sure Graham also mentioned an anti-teleportation device. Is that stuff illegal?"
"No, just rare. Graham's parchment originates from his birthright of darkness. The restoration orb was developed exclusively to counteract his parchment's ability to pause the disintegration and recovery parts of stasis. I've stolen a good supply of orbs, but they're useless if Graham catches me alone."
"Stolen," Sage muttered. "Just as I said, thief."
"Exposed myself, huh? Whenever I need them, I raid the office of their developer in CAM HQ."
Fynn froze. "CAM HQ? Isn't their security best in the region?"
"It's not as sound as you think."
"You stole the anti-teleportation device, too?"
"I took it from Graham after he stole it from them. Cool, huh?"
Sage tapped his foot. "Doesn't CAM HQ oversee the celebrity duelist league?"
"They also develop and maintain battle technology," Fynn said. "If our weapons or barriers ever need a global update, they're the ones to release it. The goddess trusted them with such a great responsibility."
"Impressive. Do we need to report this guy for stealing from them?
Weaver held his palms up. "Hey, I stole for the greater good. They already know I'm the culprit; they just can't catch me."
"Hmph. I suppose it wouldn't be useful for me to antagonize a thief, anyway."
"Good catch, 'cause you've got a pretty nice bow."
Sage tightened his grip on his weapon. "What's all this technology for? And why does Graham want it?"
"I can't tell you what I know."
"Does it threaten the world?"
"Perhaps."
"Then you must involve me. Saving the world is in my job description."
"You don't know what you're doing. Just know I'm not a problem."
"Yet you steal from CAM HQ?"
"For hindering a true threat, it's a small price to pay." Weaver pursed his lips. "I've said enough. Ask me nothing more."
"Keep everything to yourself, then." Sage raised his chin. "Don't run to me, the appointed hero, if your obviously precarious conflict spirals out of control."
"This appointed hero thing inflates your ego, huh?"
"I'm just trying to have fun playing the part."
"You've got an odd perspective on fun, then." Weaver sighed. "When we meet again, I'll try to help you out. You really saved me here. Sound cool?"
"Sounds cool."
Fynn took a deep breath. "Weaver, where's Carnatia?"
With an unimpressed look, Weaver pointed in a direction obliquely opposite from the decaying trees. "That way. You must have missed it."
"Deepest thanks." Fynn strolled in Carnatia's direction. "Follow me, Sage."
When Sage began to walk, a slushy snowball splattered all over his neck. Shoulders raised, he turned around. Weaver was already gone. He laughed under his breath and continued on his way.
The morning's first light warmed the night. He still knew next to nothing about what he was supposed to do. But he did know the forest's fresh air cleared his head as the swaths of lavenders returned, and, for now, that was all he cared about.