The days unfurled like a parchment scroll, each one marked by a glimmer of progress. Lane, once a frail figure weakened by injury, found himself growing stronger with each sunrise. It was a gradual transformation, a dance of resilience set to the rhythm of healing.
The first hint of dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky with hues of lavender and gold. Lane stood in the courtyard of Elder Ivor's home, a place that had transformed into his own over the months he had spent there. Dew-kissed grass cradled his feet, and the soft hum of the waking forest enveloped him like a familiar melody.
Lane's fingers gently traced his own face, like a blind person relearning familiar contours. His body, once marked by harsh battles and neglect, had transformed into something beautiful. It was as if his own determination and strength had become paintbrushes, creating intricate patterns of healing.
He let his fingers linger on his features, following the path of his recovery. They moved through his newly revived blonde hair, feeling the texture he'd missed. They explored the edges of his bright blue eyes, rediscovering the curves and lines he'd nearly forgotten. His touch was gentle, like a silent greeting to himself, acknowledging the changes he'd gone through.
As he explored, a soft chuckle bubbled up from deep inside him. It was a laugh of surprise and relief, a release of emotions he'd held in during months of healing and self-discovery. He'd almost forgotten what he looked like, and seeing his own face brought a rush of feelings—relief, thankfulness, and a sense of who he was.
With each passing day, he had risen from his makeshift bed a little earlier, pushed his physical limits a little further, and tested the boundaries of his pain a little more. The wooden crutches that he guided Rowan to make, which had been his constant companion lay abandoned by the door, replaced by the steady rhythm of his own two feet.
Lane's morning routine began with a series of stretches, each movement an ode to the gradual mending of his body. His fingers reached for the sky, tracing invisible arcs against the canvas of the morning as if summoning the very essence of vitality itself. Muscles that had once atrophied were now awakened, singing with newfound strength.
The clank of metal against metal resonated through the quiet dawn as Lane practised his swordsmanship. Lane stood face to face with Rowan, his practice partner and, more often than not, the source of much-needed humour in their sessions.
Their training had been interrupted many times before, but today, it flowed smoothly. With each step, they moved together, in a harmonious ballet with their blades. The soft swish of steel through the air filled the peaceful morning.
Lane's strikes were deliberate, each movement a testament to his determination. His eyes glittered with an unwavering resolve. God knows what made him push himself so hard in the morning, as he lunged forward, his sword cutting through the air in a clean arc.
He followed it with a quick pivot, his feet shifting with the agility of a seasoned warrior. But beneath the surface, the remnants of his injuries held him back, like an anchor on a ship yearning to sail freely.
As they continued their duel, Lane's movements, while fluid, were occasionally marred by twinges of pain. He winced, his face contorting briefly, but he pressed on, his resolve unwavering. Rowan, his practice partner and friend, matched his every move with precision and skill.
Rowan's movements were equally impressive. He deftly parried Lane's strikes, his footwork agile as he manoeuvred around the training ground. His eyes, sharp and focused, followed Lane's every move, ready to counter with precision.
The dance continued, their swords meeting in a flurry of strikes and parries. Lane's injuries, though a hindrance, didn't diminish the beauty of his technique. Each swing of his blade was a display of strength and finesse, a testament to his unwavering dedication to his craft.
Lane attempted to execute a new technique that Rowan had recently taught him. As he swung his sword with determination, a searing pain shot through him like a bullet. His face contorted in agony, and his rhythm crumbled like a fragile sandcastle against the tide.
In that agonizing moment, Lane couldn't bear the pain any longer. With a grimace of discomfort, he relinquished his grip on the sword, allowing it to fall to the ground. Gasping for breath, he leaned heavily on the hilt for support, his body trembling with the weight of his injuries.
Rowan watched, concern etched across his face, as Lane's strength momentarily abandoned him, leaving him vulnerable and struggling to regain his composure. "Lane," he began, his voice filled with genuine worry.
Lane's eyes, clouded with pain, met Rowan's. He tried to summon a reassuring smile, but it faltered under the weight of his discomfort. "I'm... fine," he managed to say between ragged breaths, his tone strained.
Rowan knelt beside Lane, his expression a mixture of sympathy and concern. He placed a hand on Lane's shoulder, a comforting gesture. "You don't have to push yourself so hard," he said softly, using the title that had become a habit. "Your Highness, your well-being is more important than any training."
Lane's jaw clenched at the title, and he couldn't resist a sarcastic retort. "Ah, yes, 'Your Highness.' Because I always find it so relaxing to be reminded of my royal status while trying not to pass out from pain."
Rowan couldn't help but chuckle at Lane's sarcasm. "I see your point, Lane. I'll try to remember not to address you so formally during our 'relaxing' training sessions."
Lane shot Rowan a sidelong glance, a sly grin playing in the corners of his mouth. "You know, Rowan, you can call me 'Your Highness' all you want once I've managed to wrest the kingdom back from my dear old dad."
Rowan's eyebrows were raised in amusement. "Ah, planning a little coup, aren't we?"
Lane's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Only if my father insists on addressing me as 'Your Highness' while I'm sparring for my life."
Lane's earlier discomfort slowly faded away, and as he bantered with Rowan, he couldn't help but marvel at how seamlessly they got along. It felt as if they had known each other for years, not just a few months they had spent training and searching for their little lost hooman and an elf.
Rowan leaned against a nearby tree, still grinning. "You know, Lane, once you do become king, you'll have to deal with all sorts of formalities and titles."
Lane mockingly sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Oh, joy. I can hardly wait." he continued as he adjusted himself. "You know, Rowan, back in my world, I wasn't always a prince. I grew up in a pretty ordinary place."
Rowan's interest piqued, and he nodded for Lane to continue.
Lane leaned against a training dummy, reminiscing. "I went to this regular high school, where everyone had to deal with pop quizzes, homework, and teenage drama. It's funny how different that world was from here, where we're battling shadows and searching for lost friends."
Rowan, curious about these unfamiliar terms, asked, "Teenage drama and pop quizzes? What are those?"
Lane chuckled, realizing that he needed to provide a bit more context for his friend. "Teenage drama is, well, a lot of emotional ups and downs that come with being a teenager. It's dealing with crushes, friendships, and sometimes even conflicts with parents and teachers. It can be pretty intense."
Rowan nodded, absorbing the explanation. "I see, so it's like dealing with all the complexities of growing up."
"Exactly," Lane agreed. "And pop quizzes are these surprise tests that teachers give you in school. They're usually short and cover the material you've been studying. They can be stressful because you have to be prepared for them at any moment."
Rowan frowned in sympathy. "Sounds like a lot of pressure."
Lane's gaze turned distant as he continued. "And then there was London, where I lived for a while. It's a bustling city, full of technology and tall buildings that touch the sky. The contrast between that world and this one is almost surreal."
Rowan's curiosity got the best of him. "Technology? What kind of technology?"
Lane smiled, eager to share his experiences. "Oh, all sorts of things! We had smartphones that could do almost anything—call, text, take pictures, and access the internet. We could even watch movies and play games on them. It's amazing how advanced technology has become."
"Please speak in the language that I can understand, YOUR HIGHNESS" he pressured the words.
Lane's pffts as he understood where he was going. "Smartphones were like handheld devices that could fit in your pocket. They had touchscreens, and you could use them to communicate with people, like sending text messages or making phone calls. But they were much more than just phones."
Rowan furrowed his brows, clearly trying to grasp the concept. "Touchscreens? What are they?"
Lane chuckled, realizing how different their worlds were. "A touchscreen is like a smooth surface on the device that you can touch with your fingers to control it. You don't need buttons or keys; you just tap and swipe on the screen to make things happen."
Rowan nodded slowly, beginning to understand. "I see. So, what else could these smartphones do?"
Lane's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, a lot! You could take pictures with them, like capturing moments in an instant. And there was this thing called the internet. You could use it to access information from all over the world, like reading books, watching videos, or even chatting with people in real-time, no matter how far away they were."
Rowan's eyes widened in wonder. "That sounds incredible. We don't have anything like that here."
Lane continued, "And there were apps, which were like tiny programs you could install on your smartphone. Some were games you could play to pass the time, and others were tools for things like navigation, finding restaurants, or translating languages."
Rowan's curiosity was piqued. "Games? What are those?"
Lane blinked twice, thrice, and then slapped the hand on his face. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake. "Nevermind, I am retarded"
"What's Retarded?"