Screams echo from dreams of a battlefield. The scent of death rode through the wind and Elias dreamed of that night again.

  He could still envision it. His mother’s familiar face twisted into a caricature of what it once was. Him, trying to hide under his bed, and his mother’s corpse, lying just a few feet away from him. The scent of her corpse had driven him insane. His stomach roiled, and he almost forgot the hunger that seemed to consume him.

  By now, his body had gotten used to the hunger, but his stomach felt hollow. Though Elias couldn’t bring himself to feel sympathy for himself. Not when he had witnessed how brutally they had cut down his mother.

  More memories flooded his mind.

  He had hidden first, before his mother. A coward, as always. His father had told them to hide in Elias’ room. Yet Elias could not agree with that. He tried running after his father, but his mother held onto him with all her might. After that she, bless her soul, dragged him behind her. Once inside his room, she told him to hide under the bed. Elias argued with her, of course, but she made it clear she had no intention of listening to him. So, he gave in. He shouldn’t have. His mother was too busy making it seem like the bed was untouched to notice the door open behind her. The door opened far too slowly for what followed.

  The sound of footsteps brought him out of his delirium. The sound was so faint he thought he’d hallucinated it. His eyes zeroed in on the door. His senses told him someone was about to open it. Elias himself had closed it hours after his mother’s killers had left the room. He heard a crash and knew the stranger had broken his door. His heart seized in fear. By the time Elias had turned to see who it was, the stranger had stepped closer to him. He could only see brown leather shoes and the hem of a green pants.

  “So you survived, eh?” a deep, silky voice asked Elias. The man began pacing, his each step a rhythm. The Devil had come for Elias. He was sure of it. “Nothing to say, boy? That’s alright.” He chuckled, as if this whole situation were an elaborate joke that Elias wasn’t in on. “Though if I wanted you dead…” he mused.

  Elias remained silent. Curling into himself, hoping to hide from the man. Hoping this was all just a bad dream. Perhaps if he waited long enough, his mother would return. She’d scold at him for playing hooky instead of going to Father Desmond’s classes, and everything would…

  “Nothing will be normal for you ever again,” the man declared, his voice as flat as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Elias felt fear grip his heart.

  “You have no family, no friends, nobody. You could die right here, and it would make no difference to anyone-”

  “W-what are you here for?” Elias asked, cursing himself for sounding so weak. He couldn’t let the Devil finish his sentence.

  “Come out boy. Stop cowering and stand before me,” the man said, his voice sounded commanding without the need to raise it. Elias was compelled to follow.

  Elias crawled out from under the bed, and he came face to face with an elf. The man before him could not be human with how long his ears were. His hair and eyes looked even more otherworldly. They glowed silver as though they didn’t belong in the mortal planes. For some reason though, Elias could not focus on the man’s face, but he had a deep impression that it would be flawless.

  No wonder elves were so highly revered. Someone in his village had called them, ‘beings a step below the Gods themselves’ and Elias couldn’t help but agree. The elf considered him. “Today you cowered and hid. That is alright, you are weak. I will remake you in my image, make you stronger than you ever imagined,” the elf declared as though these were foregone conclusions. Elias could almost forget the fact that he was weak even by human standards. “The question now is if you want that power. Do you?” All he needed was one word and Elias’ world would change forever. Elias stared at the otherworldly creature. Perhaps he was the Devil after all.

  Then he saw the hilt of a sword strapped to the back of the elf. It struck him as odd for some reason. The hilt was distinct. A dragon eating its own tail. Something about it felt significant.

  The dream continued onwards. Elias couldn’t comprehend what happened after. It felt as though he were falling faster with every second that passed. His whole life went by him and Elias didn’t know what happened.

  He tried to recall his mother. Only the deep impression of her horrific death remained in his mind. A rotting reminder of his failure stuck to the forefront of his mind.

  He tried to recall his father—his face, his name, anything—but his mind drew a blank. It was as though he were trying to grip sand, his memories seemed to slip right past his fingers.

  He tried to recall the elf. He was struck by the feeling of immense regret gnawing at his mind. Nothing else came to mind.

  Elias wanted to scream. What was going on?

  The scent of rotting meat hit his nostrils, and Elias awoke to the stench of death. He could almost see the River Styx in his mind’s eye, filled to the brim with corpses.

  He slowly opened his eyes. The moon hung above him, a silent observer. The sky was a dark blue. Elias then looked around him. He was surrounded by corpses. Everywhere he looked, rotting flesh was the only thing that met his eyes. They melded together almost like a macabre field of meat.

  Elias looked down at himself, half expecting his own body to be in the same state. He saw pristine skin. He flexed his fingers, half expecting one of them to snap as he moved them. Nothing. He dragged himself to his feet. He heard something make a crunching sound as he got up. He was lying on top of a body. Elias took a step back, another crunch. Elias looked down to see another body. Why were all these bodies humans? He tried to hold back his bile and not look at the spots they were caved in.

  There was one similarity between him and the corpses he hadn’t noticed before, he was wearing the same clothe around his waist as they were.

  What did that mean?

  There were holes in his memories. The elf was the last thing he could remember, yet he knew time had passed since then. He was bigger, plus his mind seemed to know there was a gap between the dream memory and now.

  Why was he here amongst the dead? What had he said to that elf back then?

  “Chosen,” the corpse he had stepped on earlier groaned. He jumped back, readying for a fight. He tried not to hear more bones crunching. “You must travel… to,” the corpse dry heaved, blood oozed out of its mouth, yet it ground out more words. “The Everlit City. The False King… bides his time there. Your memories… will return once you end his reign.” The corpse dragged itself upright and pointed straight at him. Its red, cracked skin glinted in the moonlight. “I hope this cycle proves more fruitful than the last.”

  Blood poured out of the corpse’s eyes. “You have been given the tools,” the blood kept on pouring, the corpse didn’t let that bother it. “The means, and the convictions to take him down.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  What the hell was going on? Why was there so much blood?

  The blood lapped at his forelegs now. However deep the pit was, it was all filled up. Now all that was left was to drown him. He had to get out of here, quickly. The spirit was clearly trying to kill him. Elias waded through the blood, each step sluggish. The blood kept rising, as though it wanted to claim him. The pit was clearly dug intended for more bodies to fill it. There was no way to just jump out of here.

  His mind raced. There must be some solution. “Why do you resist, Elias?” The voice echoed from another corpse. Was this just one entity?

  “You can escape easily. Why don’t you just-”

  The scenery before him shifted. He was sat on a bed. His body sank into it, the softness was almost suffocating. He wanted to resist, but the comfort brought with it exhaustion. His mind screamed for resistance, but his body continued to be calm.

  “Trust me?”

  The corpse’s final words lingered in Elias’ mind like some sort of lingering thought. Elias tried to calm his hammering heart. That must have been an illusion. Then why couldn’t he remember anything beyond his name and single memory?

  And why didn’t he still have any decent clothing?

  Was he like those corpses? The thought filled him with more fear than he expected. The thought of being lifeless like that, staring into eternity without end…

  He couldn’t let himself end up like that.

  Elias shook his head. There was no way any of this was real, was there? The wind caressing his body certainly felt real. So did the comforting warmth of the bed. He stared around at the room. It was beyond tidy. Almost as though it were left untouched. There was also a window on the right side of the room. A sofa and a table sat directly opposite to it, basking in the moonlight. The room too certainly looked real enough.

  The wooden walls made it look like a traveller’s inn. Perhaps he was some traveller that was robbed, but had emergency funds?

  Then if all this was real, how could he explain how real the pit looked to him?

  His eyes caught onto a candle stand barely poking out of the darkness almost as if on instinct. A long-forgotten memory guiding his hand, Elias pointed at the candlestand and spoke the word, “ignis.” His mind was overcome with the mental image of fire. He could feel its warmth in his mind. Almost see it lighting up the room. Then as though his mental image had replaced reality, there it was. Fire. Something felt off about it however. Elias could feel something stir within it.

  In the fire he saw one of the corpses from the pit, staring at him with fascination. The flames licked the corpses’ hollow eyes, the heat distorting its already ruined features. Staring at it he could only feel reverence. “You have suffered far too much, Chosen. You can have this much.” It murmured the words with an almost dream-like quality. He was having trouble focusing. He could discern nothing about the voice.

  He should ask about that elf in his dream. Perhaps this being knows about him. It seemed to know who Elias was at least. He tried to open his mouth, but it refused to cooperate. His body felt far too relaxed. As though he were experiencing a continuation of when he was transported from the pit.

  “Find Dorian the Bishop, he knows about the current calamity far more intimately than anyone,” a chuckle echoed from within the fire. He couldn’t attribute such a clear laughter with the image of the corpse in the fire. “Farewell, Chosen.”

  His senses were suddenly deprived. Almost as though he’d lost something. He was talking to an Elder God. He knew that for certain now, but what was this being’s endgame? It seemed friendly, but…

  That was when he noticed it. He was selectively remembering things. He knew what everything was on an instinctual level, but deeper memories of it, or of anything personal seemed to not exist in his head.

  Elias felt a sudden sense of rage and stood up immediately. Someone was messing with his mind. Violating it. Was it this God? He began pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of it all. It was a good then he didn’t ask about the dream then. Everything about his situation felt suspicious.

  He felt a pair of eyes on him and Elias whirled around. There was someone at the entrance to his room.

  “Ah, Elias. Do not worry, my dear boy, Our Lady Ananke has sent me.” The man looked like a priest but there was something shifty about him. He wore clerical robes and held himself with an air of benevolence. But if Elias had to guess he would estimate the man to be in his twenties. However, he acted far older. As though he knew things Elias had no way of possibly knowing. The priest simply stood there at the door with a serene smile. His brown eyes seemed to be smiling at Elias as well. His hands were hidden behind him. “I am Father Eugene. I oversee the Church of Refuge close by. It is nice to meet you.”

  Elias decided not to make a fuss about the man’s sudden entrance. It wouldn’t answer anything for the moment and the man looked distinctly uncooperative. How Elias had come upon this impression, he did not know. “It is nice to meet you too, Father. Who is this, Lady Ananke?”

  Father Eugene stared at Elias with an incomprehensible expression, before he hid it behind a guise of nicety. “Lady Ananke, my dear boy, is the patron of our church. She is our Lady of Crossroads, Fate, and Refugees. She who speaks for the lost.” The priest finally brought one his hands forward, revealing a white silk glove covering it. Elias was filled with a sense of unease.

  “Why would such a goddess speak through an aristocrat?” Surprise flickered through the priest’s face. Elias was also surprised. Why would he think that was strange?

  “Lady Ananke had told me you’d be disoriented, and your memories might be in tatters. That seems to not be the case this time around.” The priest suddenly looked alarmed. “Ah, I mean, nothing.” The priest plastered on a fake grin, his lips were stretched a bit too widely to be genuine. “I am glad you seem to be doing alright, Elias. Only Our Lady knows the troubles you had to go through to get here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘this time around’?” A sudden chill overcame him. “Where those bodies in the pit mine?”

  “Pit? I do not know what you mean, dear boy. It must be the disorientation from meeting with Lady Ananke. No, no, the truth is far simpler. There used to be Legends you see, of some lost warrior or the other brought forth by our Lady. They all suffer from an illness time and time again. The Fog of War. Their memories are stuck reliving their worst torment. They have no past other than their sorrows. I am just glad you do not share their fate, my boy.”

  Elias felt a sense of silent horror. The priest had described his condition exactly. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to bring it up. It felt like a weakness. He didn’t want the priest to have this information. “You didn’t answer me earlier. Why would such a benevolent deity speak through an aristocrat?” Elias hoped asking the question again would divert the priest’s attention.

  “You operate under a misconception, my dear boy.” The priest smiled. “I do not speak for the Goddess. You do.” Father Eugene’s smile never wavered, but something dark flickered in his eyes. A quiet tremor that passed too quickly for Elias to see. The words, ‘you do’ hung heavily in the air. “As for my status, I left it behind for the life of a priest. These,” he jerked his head towards his hands, “are mere reminders of that life.” The priest put his hands behind his back. “You emissary have given up far more to be here. That much I know. So do not blame this sinner for his past.”

  The priest took a step away from him before turning around. “You can find something to cover yourself in the trunk below your bed. Meet me in the morning once you are comfortable. I will be at the church.” The priest started walking away from him. “Remember Elias, Lady Ananke guides us all. Trust in her guidance.” There was something unspoken in his words. “Sleep well, Elias.”

  The thought of saying goodbye didn’t occur to Elias, so he could only stare as Father Eugene walked away, humming something under his breath. As the priest’s footsteps faded down the hallway, his hand clutched the door, his breath shallow. Something was wrong with that man. He closed the door. He felt the sense there was more going on than Father Eugene had told him, but for now, he needed to get dressed. No more answers seemed forthcoming at the time, and the idea of sleep seemed appealing.

  He trudged over to the bed and pulled out the trunk from beneath it. The trunk itself wasn’t elaborate. It was carved out of oak wood. Opening the trunk, Elias noticed a few things immediately. The clothes in the trunk seemed simple too. As though they were woven in one breath. A simple white shirt and a brown pant. An outfit for the farmer folk. Taking them out, Elias also noticed there was something else in the chest. A sword. Not just any sword, but the one the elf had in Elias’ dream. He was sure of it; the hilt was the very same.

  Looking at it now, he could tell something about his impression had changed. In his dreams he could only see the handle of the sword, yet it looked familiar to him even as it was now. The steel’s polish, the sharpness of the blade, the many engravings on the handle, the engraving of a dragon eating its own tail. Everything felt familiar. “What the hell is this supposed to mean now?” Elias muttered in frustration. Despite that, he pulled the sword out reverently.

  The sword gleamed in his hands, and for a moment Elias felt a flash of recognition. A fleeting memory he couldn’t catch up to. Its hilt was cold to the touch, but as he gripped it, a faint tingling spread through his fingers. It was as though the weapon were greeting him.