Darkness swirls in my mind as memories fly by. I assume I’m not dead since this endless void doesn’t resemble heaven. More than likely, I’m being healed. Another memory whizzes by. How disorderly, this must be my mind. It’s gotten extremely messy up here. When was the last time I cleaned up here? I guess it’s time to get to work. In seconds, I carefully categorize my memories by date. This shelf contains the memories of when I was seven. These contain the memories of when I was fourteen. Those are the terrible twos. On and on, the memories sort themselves perfectly. All except one.

  A single memory stays uncategorized. A flaw. A blemish in the perfection that is my mind. One that doesn’t belong. My memory, but not my memory. Familiar, but foreign. Something I remember, but I’ve never experienced. A simple memory of a conversation that I’ve never had with someone I’ve never met. A memory that appeared out of nowhere, but a mere three months ago.

  It could be fake. I believed it to be fake at first, but the longer I spent thinking about it, the more that idea faded. It was too real to be fake. It was odd, but it had to be real. The rogue memory grew clouded, shrouded, obscured as I dug for details. Everything except one face and one voice.

  “Princess of Ruin, I, The Late Chosen, need your aid. Will you help me save this ruined world?” he asked as he tore his way through the forces of evil, and then the memory fades, only to be replaced by the sound of apple slicing.

  Slice, slice, and slice a little more. What more does a CJ do other than slice an apple in a sophisticated and impressive way? Well, not much really. I like to bake, garden, and take long walks in the back alleys of shady places. The shadier the better. I’m looking for someone gullible, preferably filthy rich, and maybe a little evil.

  “Will you feed me the apple, already?” Penelope says from the bed.

  Looking down at her, I smirk. “Hmm. Is that any way to ask someone for a favor? I mean, I’m the kind and caring individual who took time out of his life to come and check up on you. Now, do we want to try again?”

  Penelope gives me a blank stare before letting out a long sigh. “If I could move, I would punt you, but that’s not really an option. Charlatan, could you oh so kindly feed me that apple, please?” she asks with a menacing tone.

  I should probably stop before she blows, but it’s so fun to mess with her. Especially right now. The injuries from her fight have been mostly healed, but it seems it’ll take a second for her to regain movement in some of her limbs. To think Luna is somehow scarier than Lupin.

  “Fine, but only because you won. If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be feeding you,” I joke as I feed her a slice of apple.

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s true,” she says as her gaze lingers on me.

  “What? Got something on my horns?” I ask as I try to catch a glimpse of my horns.

  “No, I was… just confirming something. You really aren’t The Chosen One,” she says with a mix of emotions.

  “Ah, Penelope, I really don’t know how many times we will have to go through this, but I am the one and only Chosen One,” I [Lie] as I feed her another apple slice.

  “Sure. How are the rest of the duels going?” she asks.

  “Oh, I have no idea. My only source of knowledge is bedridden right now, and unless I’m omniscient, I don’t think I can watch the duels from here,” I say with a hint of sarcasm.

  Penelope furrows her brow in anger. “Then why are you here? We should be focusing on the remaining duels and the capabilities of those who are fighting. After all, every point counts.”

  I carefully place the plate of sliced apples on her forehead.

  “What are you doing, Charlatan?”

  “Well, you asked something stupid, so I’m doing something stupid,” I say with a devilish smile.

  “Stupid? Me? In what reality are you living in? What idiotic thing did I say, huh?” she asks with more than a hint of fury.

  “‘Why am I here?’ Penelope, I’m not going to leave you here alone. What kind of person do you think I am? You’re injured, and you just won an incredible duel. Of course, I’m going to be here both to celebrate and to make sure you’re okay.”

  “...”

  A long silence hangs in the air as I slowly peel another apple.

  “Do you want me to move the plate?” I ask as I reach for it.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “No! Uhm, I mean, no. Leave it there for another second or two,” she says as red dyes the tips of her Elven ears.

  “Ok. …How long are you going to be in here for?” I ask as I clear my throat.

  “Just another day. I’ll be as good as new by the time your duel comes up. Speaking of, are you ready?” she asks, obviously trying to change the subject.

  “Of course. You don’t need to worry about it. I have a plan,” I say, eager to change the subject.

  “You’re going to need more than a plan to beat someone with a [Title],” she reminds.

  “Don’t worry about it. After all, I have a [Title] to,” I say with a devilish smile.

  My blade cuts clean through the dummy's arm, sweat pours down my neck, and an uncomfortable stifling heat spreads through me. Oh, by the Gods. Somebody save me! I think I’d rather fight the Fire Salamander again.

  “Are you giving up already?” Gerta, my swordsmanship teacher, asks as she cleans the floor.

  I could just tell her no, but I’ve played this game before. Each time I tell her I’m tired before lunch is over, she somehow finds a way to convince me to continue. She has threatened me, scolded me, and manipulated me. I have a lot of respect for this elderly woman, but today is the day I’ll find out how to beat her at her own game.

  “Yeah, Gerta, I’m actually tired,” I say, waiting in anticipation for her next move.

  “Oh, I see. I guess I have been working you too hard. If you’d like to stop here, we certainly can.”

  “I’m not listening to you. I am- Wait, what?” I ask in utter confusion.

  “I said you can stop if you’d like. I’m not forcing you to be here.”

  What should I do? This isn’t exactly what I expected. Do I just walk out or what? No, really, what do I do?

  “Ok, I guess… I’m leaving?” I say as I begin to walk away.

  “It is a shame, really? I was planning to share my cake recipe with you, but if you’re leaving I-”

  “What’s another hundred swings? I can do that in my sleep,” I say as I continue to slash at the dummy.

  Fucking hells above. She got me. To think she would bribe me. Playing me against my own greed. How utterly terrifying. I really respect her now.

  Gerta lets out a long sigh as she silently corrects my form. “You’ve come a long way during this last week. I’m quite proud of your dedication,” she says without a hint of sarcasm.

  “You think so? Am I finally at the level of a master swordsman?” I ask as I slice through the air.

  “No, of course not, but you’ve finally got the basics down. This way you won’t snap your wrist when you swing your sword,” she says with a small chuckle.

  “Yeah, I guess that would be aiming a bit high. This will have to do. After all, my duel is tomorrow,” I say with a sigh.

  Gerta wrings out the water from her mop and continues to clean the floor. “I see that you are nervous. Would you care to hear a story from an old lady?”

  “I don’t see why not,” I say as the tip of the blade slices through the air.

  “Hmm. Then let me tell you the story of the little dragon. Long ago, before the Era of Kingdoms, there was a small village far up in the north, hidden in a valley between the mountains. This village was peaceful and bountiful. The villagers were rarely without, but one day that village was visited by a little dragon.”

  The sound of the mop sploshing on the ground mixes with the laughs of students outside. At the same time, the door opens, letting in a freezing wind.

  “This little dragon was kind and curious. It was fascinated by the little mortals and wanted to become their friend. The little dragon flew down from the mountaintop and asked the little mortals what they needed. The little dragon expected something large, or expensive, or possibly dangerous, but he would never have expected what they would ask for. They asked to be friends,” Greta says with a captivating voice.

  “Let me guess, and then they lived happily ever after,” I say as I try to catch my breath.

  “No. This was during the Era of Strife. Very few stories back then had happy endings. The story goes that the little dragon befriended the villagers and lived a good number of years in peace, but that peace didn’t last. You see, the world was still suffering the effects of The Hope Devourer. Even years after its sealing, the damage it had done did not go away easily. Famine had taken hold of the continent, and soon the tribes bared their fangs towards the bountiful village. The little dragon could not stand idly by as its friends were slaughtered. So, the kind dragon fought and died protecting that village. The end,” she says.

  “Was that supposed to relax me?” I ask as I finish my last swing.

  “No, I never said it was going to relax you,” she says with a coy smile.

  “Oh, you’re one sly cookie, aren’t you?” I say as I place the training sword away.

  “That’s certainly one way to describe me, but there is a point to this story,” she says as she stares me down.

  “And what is that?”

  “Kindness is a slippery slope to death,” she says with a grim tone.

  A small chuckle leaves me.

  “What’s so funny, Chosen One?”

  “I just think that’s stupid. Isn’t everything a slippery slope to death? If we're all going to die in the end, why not be kind?” I ask as I wipe the sweat from my brow.

  Gerta stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time before breaking into laughter. “I guess that’s one way to look at it, but you need to remember something. That mindset is only possible for the strong and powerful.”

  “Good thing I’m The Chosen One then,” I [Lie] with a devilish smile.

  “A good thing indeed. Aren’t you running late for class?” she asks with a knowing look.

  “Of course n- Oh shit, not again. Thanks for the lesson, Greta. I’ll see you next time,” I say as I begin to run to my class.

  As I run, Greta whispers something to herself that I can’t quite hear, but I’m sure it’s not important at all.