“How close are we?” Rhea ascended the stairs to the helm of the ship where I stood, the wood creaking under the weight of her greaves.

I clenched one hand around the railing, and shielded my eyes from the sun with the other. “Within the hour, captain.”

I glanced at her before returning my gaze to the glittering ocean ahead of us. All three of our ship’s blood red sails thundered at full capacity, displaying the entire sun-insignia on each one.

“Really, Alex?” Her palms squeaked against her plate armor—blood red, just like the sails—as she adjusted it.

I glanced at her again. “What?”

The circlet of flames that levitated just above her head barely flickered as the wind whooshed by. Even when her long, brunette hair wafted up into it, the fire remained unphased. It just hovered there, no matter what it came in contact with, and burned nothing but itself.

“One of these days I’ll get it through your thick skull that I’m your sister before your captain.” She grinned as she flicked the pointy part of my ear. “Even if the only parent we share is a human one.”

“I’d be setting a bad example for the troops if—”

“Whatever.” She jabbed my shoulder, her fist clonking against my plate armor. “Let me give you a break from standing at the helm. I’d rather—”

“I came with you to honor our father’s last request, not to relive the past.” My body tensed as I inhaled sharply. “I’ll give you the same answer now as I did the past three times you’ve asked on this voyage.”

“But I didn’t even—” She sighed. “Look. I know how you feel about accessing the ‘old you,’ but I tried everything I could. So did Chiros. There’s something she’s not telling us and I worry that, if we don’t find out what it is, something terrible may await us at Sulla’s Scar.”

I remained silent.

“Please, brother,” she pleaded. “We’re at war. No price is too great for victory. If you won’t pay it for humanity—for father—then pay it for me.”

The winds weakened and the rowers picked up their pace. Their chants echoed in unison with the oars that slammed the water.

“Captain!” The boatswain walked up to the base of the stairs to the helm, scratched his hairy chest, then saluted Rhea. “Should we prep the ballistae just in case we encounter resistance before arrival? We’ve just entered enemy territory.”

She nodded at him. “Good idea.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted again, then dashed away to the nearest two soldiers, who were cleaning their plate armor with pieces of cloth. They spoke to the boatswain for a moment before dropping their cloths and heaving up the large arrows to load into the ballistae.

“You know what?” She returned her attention to me, nudged me to the side, and took up her position at the helm. “Do as I ask or don’t. As I’ve said before, you’re my brother before anything else, so the choice is yours. Just know that if anything bad happens that could’ve been prevented—if any lives are lost that could’ve been spared—that blood is on your hands.”

I peered at her, but she refused to make eye contact.

Her words were harsh, but they rang true.

“I understand.” I swiped my red-plumed helmet off the bench behind us, slotted it under my arm, then made my way off the helm. “Captain.”

I headed for the bow of the ship and the soldiers saluted me as I passed by them. The sailors simply glanced, as they were preoccupied with loading the ballistae on the port side. The square braziers that lined the center of the vessel had been lit, and some soldiers had started filling the communal quivers strapped to the masts with arrows.

As I arrived at the floor-door to get below deck, I startled a soldier who had just popped it open. He nearly lost his footing on the ladder and his grip slipped on the handle. The wooden board thonked back down onto his helmeted head, but he quickly regained his composure as he pushed the door back up and exited.

“S-sir.” He saluted. “Chiros is waiting for you.”

I held back a chuckle and nodded.

He saluted again, then walked past me to his comrades who polished their sun-crested shields.

“Alexander!” Chiros’ voice boomed from below. “You know I don’t like to be kept waiting!”

“Don’t care!” I called back as I opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder. The rowers stared at me as I descended, and the stench of sweat assaulted my nose as soon as my feet hit the floor. I tried breathing through my mouth to ease the smell, but I still gagged.

They chanted in unison with each row, and every now and then the seawater would splash through the oar-holes and soak their bare bodies. Their skin was shiny from sweat, and their hips itchy due to their wet loincloths. As I walked through their ranks and down the center aisle, they continued staring at me until I walked past their line of sight.

“Pick up your pace, boy.” Chiros awaited me at the wide, back end of the ship. “I don’t enjoy wasting my time.”

The centaur towered over me, his head nearly touching the ceiling and his equestrian body blocking my path to the single cell behind him that held the prisoner. His longbow was slung over his shoulder, and his silky hair covered most of the quiver on his back, though some dark red fletching stuck out between the blonde strands.

“But I very much enjoy helping you waste it, old man.” I grinned as I placed my helmet down on the ground. “So I hear you had no luck breaking her?”

He shook his head. “She’s resilient. And stubborn.”

“Your kind usually is.” I folded my arms. “I thought you knew that.”

He glared.

“Aren’t you cramped up down here?” I changed the topic. “Why aren't you topside?”

“The rowers row better when I’m the one monitoring their work.” He scowled. “And now, it is your work I’m here to monitor as well. Get to it.”

He stepped to the side, his hooves clicking on the wood, to reveal the prisoner. She sat at the back of the cage, as far away from the bars as possible, hugging her knees. Her dark green, viney hair hung over her face, and the tree bark skin on her legs blended in with the wood of the ship.

I examined her. “What’s your name, dryad?”

The leaves that covered her upper torso and forearms rustled as she stood. “What do you care?”

“I don’t.” I feigned a frown. “I just thought it would be easier to call you by a name instead of just saying ‘dryad.’ Don’t you think?”

“A feeble attempt at ‘humanizing’ me,” she snarled. “We both know what you humans think of any race but your own. We forest folk are no exception.”

“I’m not here to talk about the divisions of the world.” I stepped closer to the bars. “I’m here to end them.”

“I can see that.” She wiped her hair out of her face to reveal her light green eyes glancing at Chiros.

The centaur reached back to draw his bow but I caught his wrist before he could.

“Don’t let her get you worked up.” I stared into his eyes. “She’s playing your hot headedness to her advantage.”

“I’ll not have my own kind condemn me for a choice they cannot even begin to comprehend.” He yanked his wrist from my grasp and took a deep breath. “I’ll not—”

“Maybe this is why you got nothing out of her.” I extended an open hand to him. “Give me the keys to the cell and go back to monitoring the rowers.”

“Are you mad?” He hissed. “Do you know what she’s capable of?”

“Yes.” I glowered. “And it seems you’ve forgotten what I am capable of.”

He glowered back and reluctantly handed me the key. He then made a wide turn to align his equestrian lower-half with the center aisle between the rowers, and trotted away from us.

The dryad chuckled faintly. “You two are adorable.”

“Did you know….” I removed my armguards, shoulderpads and cuirass, and set them down on the floor next to my helmet. Now, all that covered my torso was a tunic. “That the House of the Sun was originally founded by elven refugees before the humans inherited it?”

“A history lesson?” She rolled her eyes. “Fun.”

“A group of forest elves were banished from their home for their ‘associations with humanity.’” I unlocked the lock, opened the barred door with a creak, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. “They were kicked out by the druidic council, which was, at that time, predominantly occupied by dryads.”

She shrugged. “Cool.”

“These elves made their way to the human volcano-city of Arethor, where they were accepted into society,” I continued as I inched closer to her. “And who would’ve guessed that their magic would adapt to their surroundings?”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“To show you that we’re not the bad guys here.” I inched closer again, but she remained motionless. “You are.”

“If you insist,” she sneered.

“Speaking of volcanoes….” I blitzed her, pressing my forearm against her neck as her back hit the wall. “Have you ever been to the top of one?”

“What?” She wheezed as she pulled down on my arm, but I held fast.

“Magma is quite flexible.” I raised my other hand and gestured at her to look at it. “It flows wherever it goes, that is, if it doesn’t burn through its constraints first.”

The skin on my hand peeled away to display a layer of molten rock. My veins flowed with lava to match it. Mirages filled the air immediately around, and the dryad started to sweat.

“What if I told you,” I continued. “That I could make the magma flow through your veins, as well as mine.”

She spat in my face. “You’re a monster.”

“Indeed, I’ve discarded my morals once before.” I brought my hand closer to her head and she squirmed. “And I’ve been called on to do so yet again, for the sake of the greater good.”

She turned her head away from the heat, and refusing to make eye contact, her gaze landed right on my short, pointy ears. “No…. It can’t be.”

“You recognize me?”

“By your ears, halfbreed.” She lurched forward and I shoved her back into the wall. “You’re the Grand Inquisitor. You’re the one who—”

“I did what I was told.”

“My brother….” The green light in her eyes dimmed for a split second, before reigniting with fury. “You destroyed his body so utterly that his soul was barely recognizable when it returned to us!”

“I am sorry.” I sighed. “But the survival of the many comes before the survival of any one soul, especially my own. I sacrificed my humanity so that others wouldn’t have to. I hoped to reclaim it after the end of the First Conflict, for there is nothing I want more in this world. But your kin decided to start yet another war. So here we are.”

“We started another war?!” She snapped. “Funny how you humans contort the narrative to your advantage.”

“Alright. How ’bout this.” I pressed my thumb onto her bicep and her skin sizzled, sending up some steam. “In about one minute the magma from my veins will seep into yours and start flowing through you alongside your blood. The burning sensation will not kill you, but it will not end either. Tell me what awaits my sister’s fleet at Sulla’s Scar, and I will spare you the agony of what I just described.”

“Shove it up your—”

I pressed my thumb down harder and she cried out.

“Alexander!” Chiros blared from the other side of the ship. “Corpses can’t tell us anything!”

Her hyperventilated breathing turned ragged as beads of sweat dripped from her forehead and nose. Her face turned red, but a smirk managed to find itself along her mouth.

“Something funny?” I tilted my head at her. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing after this.”

My thumb sunk into her arm and when I removed it, a small lava-filled hole was left behind. It bubbled for a moment, then fused into her exposed muscle.

“You’ve brought this upon yourself.” I removed my forearm from her neck and stepped back as she stumbled to her knees, panting.

“As have you.” Her smirk vanished as she wailed. She peeled over, hugging herself and rolling back and forth on the floor as she convulsed.

“Oh?” I squatted down to her eye level. “Care to elaborate?”

Her head jolted up, swinging her viney hair behind her with the movement. The molten liquid had reached her neck, crawling up her veins until it reached her eyes, painting her sclera bright red. The light green that highlighted her irides flickered as the magma eclipsed it.

“Alexander!” Chiros’ hooves clicked behind me. “What have you done?”

I turned around to face him. “What’s necessary to—”

“How human of you.”

“There’s no room for compassion in war,” I retorted. “You should know—”

The ship jerked sideways, sending some rowers flying out of their seats and into their comrades. Chiros and I stumbled, but we quickly regained our footing. The dryad, on the other hand, went flying into the steel bars of the cell and hit her head, knocking herself out.

“All hands on deck!” Rhea shouted. “IMMEDIATELY!”

Chiros and I exchanged looks, then bolted towards the floor door. Once we arrived, his equestrian legs whisked away in a cloud of smoke, and the haze disappeared to reveal two human legs. The two of us then climbed up the ladder to be met with panic. Our ship was nearing landfall, but on our starboard side towered a massive treant, thigh-deep in the water. A couple dozen arrows, their points still aflame, were embedded all over its body, and several ironclad ballistae arrows were lodged in its torso.

“Sir.” One of the soldiers acknowledged me with a glance as he dipped three arrow tips into a brazier, notched them in his bow, and fired them. “Am I happy to see you.”

“Status report.” Chiros’ lower half transformed back into a horse as he drew his own bow and arrows.

“We’re trying to set it on fire with the flaming arrows.” The soldier continued firing. “But it’s not enough since they’re literally fighting in the water.”

The treant lifted both its arms up and smashed the starboard side, sending the portside ballistae, and most of the sailors who hid there, airborne. They either flew straight into the monster, or past it, landing in the water and beginning their swim to shore.

I clutched the foremast. “This ship’s going down!”

I scanned the scene for my sister to find her at the helm of the ship with her flaming sword drawn. She sprinted forward, jumped up to the railing, and leapt right at the treant with her weapon in reverse grip. She pierced its right shoulder and it roared in pain, releasing its hold on the ship but tearing through the center mast in the process.

“Hold on!” I yelled.

Rhea’s sword was stuck in the treant’s bark, and she held onto it for dear life. At the same time, the weapon’s flames began spreading outwards.

I searched the deck, found a bow and arrow, and picked them up. I pressed the steel of the tip in between my fingers and it sizzled, turning into molten lava.

“Aim for its right eye.” I glanced at Chiros who had already notched his bow.

He nodded and we let our arrows fly. They found their targets, though mine sailed clean through its head, leaving flames smouldering within its eye socket. The treant teetered in the water as it roared.

“Come on….” I watched as Rhea pulled at her sword until she finally tugged it free, pushing off the monster and landing back on our ship.

“Exhilarating.” She waited for her blade’s flames to burn off the rest of the tree sap that stained it before sheathing it. “I’d say that went pretty well.”

“Abandon ship!” Chiros bellowed as he galloped straight off the vessel.

The remaining soldiers and sailors followed suit, and as soon as I noticed the treant falling in our direction, I snatched Rhea’s hand and yanked her off her ship with me. We made it off just as the monster cleaved the vessel in half with its dying act.

“They knew we were coming,” Rhea growled. “It was an ambush.”

On the beach of Sulla’s Scar, rows of centaurs with notched bows lined the shoreline. Behind them, in the ashen, desolate ground of the Scar itself, stood a horde of dryads, along with a dozen more treants with boulders in hand ready to be thrown.

“It was a massacre,” she lamented. “And it’s my fault…”

“It’s mine.” I followed her gaze to the rest of her fleet behind our sunken flagship. One to two treants assaulted each vessel, tearing the sails, breaking the masts, and plucking soldiers and sailors from their ships. Most were flung away, but some treants decided to crush the men and women they grabbed in their hands, soaking their bark with blood and guts.

“Come on.” I shook her shoulders as I treaded water. “We gotta swim to shore. The entire fleet is going down and there’s nowhere else to go.”

“All those souls….” She blinked a few times and snapped out of her own trance. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

The two of us swam the remaining distance to shore. Scowling centaurs—with green warpaint streaking their human skin, and brown warpaint, their equestrian skin—greeted us with drawn bows. Vines were coiled around the lower and upper limbs of their weapons, and the tips of the arrows were amber.

“Disarm yourselves,” one of them growled.

Rhea unsheathed her sword and set it on the sand.

“No weapons on me.” I patted down my soaked tunic, and found that my greaves had come loose in the water, leaving my lower half protected only by trousers.

Two centaurs approached me and patted me down as well, and I examined my surroundings as they did. In addition to the dryads, treants, and present company, scattered amongst the treetops on either side of the Scar—where healthy forest still stood—were elves. They wore dark green jerkins to blend in with the leaves, and wielded mini crossbows in each hand, loaded with arrows likely tipped with amber instead of steel like their equestrian kin.

“Traitor!” A voice rang out to my right and I instinctively glanced over to see several centaurs beating on Chiros. He had made it ashore along with some other soldiers, though they laid dead and bloody on the sand.

“He did nothing wrong,” I said calmly.

“He did everything wrong.” One of the centaurs who just finished patting me down seized my chin and turned my face to his. “And you will speak only when spoken to, filth.”

“In war, it’s customary to show respect to your adversaries.”

“Respect?!” His nose flared as he snorted. “Where was your ‘respect’ when one of your generals set this very forest ablaze, creating the Scar we stand before this very day?! Where was your ‘respect’ when you tortured my brethren to the brink of severing their souls?!”

“Get off your ‘high horse,’ beast.” I heard Chiros yelp but forced myself to keep my gaze on the centaur before me. “You treat humans with the same lack of mercy as I do my prisoners. Only difference is, I do so begrudgingly, while you do so with enjoyment.”

“Silence!” He turned around and back-kicked me with his rear legs, sending me back into shallow water. I landed on a bed of seashells. Stinging pain embraced my entire back as my skin turned warm from the blood.

“Stop it!” Rhea pleaded, and the next thing I knew, a centaur lifted me up by my hair and tossed me back on the fluffy sand. I thudded face first onto it.

“Enough of this!” A feminine voice scoffed in front of me. “Men….”

I lifted myself up to my knees and came face to face with an elf. She wore dark green robes inscribed with elven runes and wielded a simple wooden walking stick with similar symbols etched all over it. Amber earrings adorned her pointy ears, which stuck out from her long, red hair, and a bipartite leaf was tattooed on her forehead. Each identical leaf was positioned over each of her eyebrows, while the stem extended down the bridge of her nose.

I suppressed a cough. “You’re a druid.”

“And you’re the Grand Inquisitor himself.” The elf gingerly lifted my chin up with the tip of her staff so I could meet her stare. One of her eyes was light green, and the other, amber. “There was a rumor the humans had put you on this mission. I do ask that you forgive Boros for his temper, though. He doesn’t know the proper way to treat prisoners of war. Even if you didn’t do as such for your own captives.”

I pointed behind me. “Are there any other survivors?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Are you the leader of this expedition?

“I am.”

“Alex!” Rhea hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Fulfilling my promise to father.”

“You can’t—”

“I must.”

The druid smacked her lips together. “How noble. I suppose this selflessness is rooted in your elven heritage. I wouldn’t expect such an act from a human.”

“A true leader should be willing to give his life so that those who serve him do not have to.” I raised my hands to her. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” My sister reached for her discarded sword but stopped as some centaurs drew back their bows.

“You should be more grateful.” The druid addressed Rhea as she bound my wrists with vines, then turned to the centaurs. “Imprison the girl with the traitor. As for the Inquisitor, he has accepted his punishment. Prepare the pool.”

A pair of centaurs slung their bows over their shoulders and arrested Rhea, dragging her off to the right where Chiros was being detained.

“I swear to the gods, Alex!” My sister roared as they took her away. “If you die I’m gonna kill you! You hear me?! I’ll kill you!”

Two dryads stepped through the rows of centaurs and approached me. They grabbed my arms, and led by the druid who cleared a path for us, escorted me through the ranks of the forest folk.

Everyone glared at me as I shambled along. We finally arrived at the treants at the rear of the army, no longer on the Scar but on grassland, which was smoother on my bare feet. At the center of the twelve behemoths stood four dryads, each wearing the same green robes and accessorizing the same bipartite leaf tattoo as the elf, indicating their druidic statuses.

“How long?” I muttered.

“A year for every life you’ve tortured.” The elf spoke without turning around. “You can do the math yourself.”

“Will you torture my sister?”

“No,” she answered. “As long as I reign as chief of the druidic council, she will not be touched, no matter how badly the dryads want to rip her to shreds.”

“I take it you mean that literally.”

“Very much so.”

Four walls of erected Earth in the shape of a square stood in the middle of the four dryads. They chanted as they danced around it, moving their arms about them as if entranced. Once they finished, they thrust their hands upwards, and from the cloudless sky, four bolts of light green lightning shot down into them. It crackled about their bodies, though they seemed unphased, and their green eyes glowed brighter.

“This is truly fascinating to watch.” I let out a deep sighed. “Even if I’ve seen this ritual dozens of times before.”

“And even if it is meant for you?” The elf inquired.

“Mother Nature is eternally captivating.” I managed a chuckle. “No matter what Her intentions are for me.”

Each dryad set their hands on a wall. The lightning flowed from their arms and into the slabs of Earth, etching the same rune on all four sides: the tree of life. The symbols pulsated like a heartbeat—

Like my heartbeat.

“It is time.” The elf spread her arms and turned around to face me, then leaned in to whisper. “I know you took the fall for your sister. I’m no fool. But you’re not doing this for her. I know what you’re truly after, and it’s going to take a lot more than a thousand years of penance to restore what you’ve lost.”

“You’re right.” I clenched my fists. “But I need to start somewhere. I need to reclaim my humanity. I can’t live as a monster anymore.”

“The fact that you can come to that realization on your own proves some of that humanity still remains within you.” She stepped back from me. “Take comfort in that.”

The dryads released their hold on my biceps. I plodded forward, receiving glares from all the forest folk who watched. Upon reaching the Earthen wall closest to me, I climbed over it and positioned myself at the center of the square.

I closed my eyes—

Deep breath…

Then opened them before lying down on my back.

“Aspious! Lindorous!” The elf spoke up again. “Proceed.”

The ground rumbled as the two treants lumbered over to me. They extended their arms over my prison, and four arrows whizzed by, cutting open their wrists. Sap spurted out for a couple seconds before gushing forth.

The liquid pooled around me, the stickiness quickly wearing off as it felt more like oil soothing my skin. The sap continued to rise, and once I became completely submerged, the tree of life symbols on all four walls sizzled. I knew holding my breath was pointless, but my brain forced me to.

My pulse throbbed against my neck.

My heartrate weakened.

Lightheadedness overcame me.

Just before my body gave out, my eyes burst open and I found myself unable to breathe, but not needing to either. As long as the tree of life runes lived, so too would I. The next thing I knew, the arms of the two treants vanished from my sight and a strong heat inundated the liquid. The sap slowly solidified, encasing me in amber.

My skin numbed.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t even close my eyes.

“We will release you when your sentence has been served in full.” The muffled voice of the elven druid echoed above me. “Consider this your penance, Inquisitor, for it is one that you’ve undoubtedly earned.”

Another slab of Earth sealed my prison, blocking out the shining sun and leaving me in the company of nothing but darkness.

_____________________________________________________________________

“This is a terrible idea,” a faint voice appeared to my right.

“Oh, c’mon sis,” another voice answered. “You got a better one?

“No.” She sighed. “We really this desperate?”

“What do you think?”

The grinding of stone on stone rumbled above me to reveal the sun. I instinctively tried to shield my eyes from its brilliance, when I remembered I was frozen in amber. I then tried to bring my lids down, but they were fixed open.

Two faces popped up above me, blocking the rays of light. Their features were darkened by shadow, but one thing was clear: pointy ears.

“Are you sure this’ll work?” The mouth of the right one moved.

“I’m like…,” the left one replied. “Ninety-nine percent sure.”

“And if it goes the way of the other one percent?”

“We join him in the amber.”

“Yay.”

The two of them climbed to the top of my encasement—revealing their dark brown and green tunics—and got down on all-fours. They muttered something in unison, and emerald light gleamed within their eyes. The same emerald magic sparkled on their palms in response. The amber underneath their hands bubbled, then started to melt as they pushed down.They grabbed either of my wrists—

Oh, to feel another’s skin again—

And gradually pulled me up. Once my fingertips breached the surface a tingling sensation surged straight up my arms, and once my head reached the top—

I inhaled a massive gulp of air as I squeezed my eyes shut—tears swelling at the corners—then opened them back up. My stiff eyelids resisted less and less which each and every blink.

The two elves finished hauling me out and I tumbled over the side, thudding onto the grass. I relished in the warmth as I stared up at the sun with a smile on my face.

Freedom.

Finally.

“Hate to rain on your parade.” The male elf offered me his hand. “But we need to leave.”

“What’s going on?” I took his hand and anxiety swept over me as I stood up. “Wait. Rhea. Is she—?”

“Who?” He grimaced. “It’s been two centuries since your imprisonment. We know about you because Vynia—”

“Vynia?”

“The elf that had you imprisoned in the first place.” He glanced away. “My mother. She sent us your way right before a dryad slit her throat.”

“I’m….” A lump formed in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

“The dryads usurped the druidic council by force moments ago.” He nodded at his sister and she darted towards the beach. “They’ve just begun purging the forest of elves and human prisoners of war.”

“I….”

“I know it’s a lot to process—that makes two of us—but we don’t have time to loiter.” He shook my shoulders. “The dryads are coming for you now. My cousin is prepping our ship to sail. We gotta move.”

“But what about Rhea?”

“Sorry, but I don’t know who that is.” He began jogging toward his sister. “Let’s go!”

I followed him onto the scar, the desolate soil rough under my feet.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked. “And what's your name?”

“I’m Tasar, and my sister is Edea, in case you were wondering.” His tone was cold, but determined. “And I’m helping you because my mother asked me to.”

“What about the rest of the House of the Sun?” My breathing became labored as we reached the beach. Two centuries in amber probably got me out of shape. “Couldn’t you appeal to them for aid?”

“About that.” He stopped running and turned around to look me in the eyes. “The humans lost the war. Both human and elven kind are being hunted down by forest folk. And you, my new friend, are at the top of their list.”

Title: (Introduction to) War for the Forest's Heart

Genre: Fantasy

Target Audience: YA, so pretty much Teen-Adult

Word Count: 5136 words

Author: Shane Martin

Good fit: Why am I a good fit? This is always a tough one. Aside from my awesome personality, (I'm humble, I swear), I hope that both my sample and the requested information below answers that question.

The Hook: Ever taken a nap for 200 years and woken up to a full out war? Meet Alexander, otherwise known as the Grand Inquisitor, who has just found himself stuck in a renewed conflict that was started by his ancestors.

Synopsis: The book is unwritten at this point (just lots of notes on google docs), but the introduction I've written here gives a pretty clear set up for the story: the main character, Alexander, is broken out of an amber-stasis prison two centuries after his imprisonment, and awakens to a world bereft by another massive war, kickstarted by the forest folk. Said forest folk (dryads, centaurs, treants, to name a few) seek vengeance upon humans and elves for the crimes they committed against them in the past.

Author Bio/Hobbies/Education: I grew up on books, T.V. and video games, struggling to fit all three of these things into each and every day. A pianist, mixed martial artist, and tennis player on the side, I've always got something to do when not gaming or netflixing (or writing, of course). I received a Bachelor of Arts Degree in both Philosophy and History at Lehman College, and first started pursuing my English Minor in Creative Writing there half way through undergraduate school. I'm now pursuing a Master of Arts in Interdisciplinary Studies at New York University, focusing heavily on how I can enhance my writing with various elements of history, philosophy, and more.

Writing Style: I Simply put, my writing style is 100% influenced by my hobbies. So, all the T.V. I watch, books I read, and (most importantly) video games I play work together to give me a constant and consistent drive to create my own characters and worlds to put them in. That said, I try my best to stay away from heavy exposition/internal monolgue, only using these as last resorts, and prefer first person narration. I prefer my readers to be as close to the main character/narrator as possible, and to be shown things through their eyes, rather than through an omniscient "god."

I could sit here and type about how reading gives me the chance to escape reality, but truth is, so do all my other hobbies.

Wait. Hobby is the wrong word here.

Passion.

Yes, that’s better.

When I’m invested enough in something, forgetting about the real world and all its problems (especially my own) is a byproduct. A given. A necessity.

So with that out of the way, I want to talk about that which makes a great story: the villain. I’m not talking about the villain that wants to destroy/rule the entire world just for funsies at story: the villain. I’m talking about the villain who’s the hero of their own story. Arthas: Rise of the Lich King being my favorite example of this (to this day I don’t why, other than the fact that it hit me harder than anything I’ve read up to that point), really hammered home how I look at people in general. This novel (written by Christie Golden), simply put, tells the tragic story of a man who only ever wanted to do the right thing. But, after all, “you either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” and while he did, indeed, start as the hero, the latter eventually rang true for him.

So allow me to preface my internalization of this with the following: in the real world, we are extremely quick to judge others. So quick, that we forget to consider what they’re going through. What’s going on behind closed doors. We don’t look deep enough. Oftentimes, we don’t care to, as it’s easier just to judge and walk away.

And I’m no exception to this.

Or at least, I used to be.

The idea that the villain is the hero of their own story reinforces the idea that they believe what they’re doing is right, and suddenly we find ourselves (as readers) torn with whether or not we’re actually rooting against them.

Now let me be clear by saying that I by no means think that any act is justified by the “actor” thinking they’re doing the right thing. Rather, the villain being their own hero has caused me to become more open-minded toward other people. Less quick to judge their actions just based on the action itself.

And honestly, this has saved me a lot of conflict over the years. I’ve even befriended people because of my choice to ask them how they’re doing instead of accusing them of x, y or z.

So to sum it all up, reading a book that includes a villain who thinks they’re the hero of their own story not only provides a compelling and complex character for me to dig into, but for me, it also provides a lifestyle.

Twenty year old Aviva sat alone in her room at her desk, dressed in light green pajamas. A Macbook Air was propped in front of her, and a textbook titled Philosophy of Religion laid to the right of the laptop. A Microsoft Word document was open, though it was bare of any writing.

“Ugh…” She sighed as she slumped back into her chair. Her eyes drifted up past the computer screen and out the window that hung over the desk. The only view she had of the outdoors was a tree, as her parents thought it a phenomenal idea to plant one right in front of her only window. It beat staring at the bookcase directly behind her that held more boring textbooks, or her unkempt single-bed to her right.

The tree rustled outside and a breeze came into the room.

“Hmph.” Aviva sat up and leaned forward to check if she had opened the window earlier and just forgot. Her fingers found the cold metal of the lock. It was definitely closed.

“Having trouble writing, dear?” A voice came from behind her.

As she turned around, she came face to face with a tall, clean shaven man. His dark black hair flowed behind him, down to the bottom of his neck. He wore black sweatpants and a wife-beater. His exposed arms were well built, though his white skin had a bit of a red tint to it.

“Who are‒”

Aviva was cut off by a rough whoosh of air, as two pure white wings popped out from the man’s back.

“How’s that writing assignment going?” He motioned at the blank Word doc on the screen.

“G-good…” She glanced back at the laptop before returning her gaze to the winged person. “Though I don’t see why it would concern you ‒ uh ‒ by the way, which one are you?”

“Which one?” He scoffed. “There is only one angel with these wings, my dear.”

“So…” Her voice trailed off. “Lucy?”

“Indee‒” He cleared his throat as his wings ruffled a bit. “Lucy?”

“Yea that’s what your brother called you when I spoke to him yesterday.”

“My brother?”

“Michael.”

“That explains why you’re not weirded out by this.”

“Not at all.” She twirled her chair around once, keeping her eyes on Lucifer the entire time. “I prayed for some help, so I expected one of you to show up.”

“Mortals these days…” Lucifer scoffed again. “Back in my day, people would pray to win a war. Now kids are praying for good test grades. How humanity has fallen…”

“Yea, so‒”

“Ya know.” He ignored her. “I warned Dad about this.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Anyways.” He sat down on her bed, pushing the crumpled blanket out of his way. “What’s the deal with your paper?”

“I have to write about an antidote.”

“An antidote?” He slumped forward, pressing his elbows on his thighs. “For what?”

“Anything.”

“Well that’s not very specific.” He frowned. “Or helpful.”

“Welcome to philosophy.”

“I got an idea.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers four times. A few moments after the last snap, the Earth rumbled briefly. An iron smell flooded the air as a pool of blood seeped up from the wooden floors. It boiled and bubbled, then rose into a humanoid figure, slowly solidifying, with the occasional slushy-sounds. The final product was a blonde man in a dark red suit. His eyes flashed the same color as his clothing as he adjusted the collar of his pink button down shirt.

“Been a while.” Lucifer nodded at him. “Where are the others?”

“Famine is a no-show.” The man rolled his eyes. “He’s a bit busy in Hungary.”

“And Pestilence?” Lucifer waved his hand around. “Or is it Pollution. What’s he goin’ by these days?”

“Also a no-show.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat next to Lucifer. “So I hear we’re trying to find an antidote for something?”

“Wait.” Lucifer put his arm around him. “What about‒”

The Earth rumbled again and the faint sound of a neighing horse echoed outside. The room’s temperature dropped for a second, then returned to normal.

“You called?” A man in nothing but a gray loincloth appeared in front of the door that stood right next to the bookcase. His skin was pale, and hair, ragged. Two black wings extended from his back, though patches of feathers were missing in random spots.

Lucifer and the man in red turned around simultaneously, swinging their legs over to the other side of the bed to address him.

“Interesting…” Lucifer scratched his chin. “The wings are new.”

“I appear to mortals as they see me.” The pale-skinned man nodded at Aviva. “She is Jewish, and thus, I am the angel of death, but I am also a horseman to you, which is why I arrived here on horseback.”

“In other words.” The man in red chuckled to himself. “Identity crisis?”

“War…” Death nodded at his fellow horseman. “Always a pleasure to have a chat with one of my more reliable suppliers.”

“Seriously?” Aviva threw her arms in the air. “You called War and Death to help me write a paper about an antidote?”

“Pfft.” Lucifer turned his head back to her. “What is an antidote, anyways? It’s a solution. And what do you need a solution for? A problem. These two guys have plenty and plenty of problems, so they could give you some ideas as to what needs a-fixing.”

Aviva rolled her eyes.

“The biggest problem in this universe is life, if you ask me.” Death’s wings flapped once, causing some feathers to fall off. “I should know. I’ve been dealing with it since Creation.”

“That stopped being funny after the millionth time you’ve made that joke, man.” Lucifer sighed. “I mean. Come on.”

“Well.” War spoke up. “I think the biggest problem in this world‒”

“He’s gonna say peace…” Aviva muttered to herself.

“Is peace.” He continued.

She rolled her eyes again.

“Alright.” Lucifer interjected. “Let’s try and think out of the box, shall we?”

“Ok guys.” Aviva waved her hands around for their attention. “These are the things I’ve thought about using for this paper: an antidote for depression, cancer, stress, fear, or loneliness, but they all seem so mundane to me and hard to explain.”

“Well…” Lucifer grinned. “I can think of something that all those things share in common.”

Death, War, and Aviva all looked at him expectantly.

“Well?” They said in unison.

“Pain.” The fallen angel spoke with his chin up, making it very obvious how much he enjoyed this topic.

“Hm…” Aviva tapped her desk with her fingers over and over as she thought. “Well. Ok. Let’s look at pain. Is there an antidote for it? Could something solve pain?”

“I’m sure there’s some sciencey explanation that could theoretically cause pain to stop.” War grunted. “But this is philosophy, and if this is philosophy, the better question to ask is, if a bunch of scientists come up with an antidote for pain, should it be implemented?”

A smile twisted its way onto Death’s face. “Go on…”

“Pain makes you fight harder for what you believe in.” War nudged Lucifer’s abdomen with his elbow to get his attention. “The amount of times I’ve seen people on the battlefield pull off some ridiculous feat of strength because they were in pain ‒ both physical and psychological pain, I might add ‒ is innumerable. Achilles, King Leonidas, Julius Caesar, Joan of Arc, George Washington‒”

“We get it.” Lucifer patted War’s chest. “Pain is a part of being human, so to cure pain would be to cure a part of human nature, or at least a specific aspect of it.”

“Answer this, Aviva.” Death stepped closer to the bed. “What is the point of an antidote?”

“Uh…” She scrunched her nose “To cure a problem.”

“And would you say things categorized as ‘problems’ are considered evil?”

“That seems like an oversimplification.” She smacked her lips. “But yes, I guess.”

“So then no matter what antidote you are writing about, the goal is the same: you are trying to solve a problem.”

“With that, I agree.” Lucifer added. “So what are you getting at?”

“What is the point of solving a problem, if problems will always exist?” Death resumed. “Why create an antidote for something, when another evil will simply take its place?”

“As a wise person once said.” Aviva shook her fist in the air. “ ‘One crisis at a time.’ ”

“Perhaps…” Death’s voice sounded hoarse for that word. “But do you think that the antidote that solves one problem is the one that births the next one in the first place?”

“This is getting too confusing for me.” War groaned.

“Of course it is.” Death chided him. “You are nascent in the long line of Creation. I have seen much more than you. I have thought much more than you.”

“Now, now.” Lucifer cleared his throat. “We’re not here to bicker like the Golden Girls.”

“Wait a minute.” Aviva burst from her chair. “If what you say is true, that solutions birth more problems simply by solving problems, then we need to find a solution for solutions?”

Lucifer and War looked at each other with confused looks.

“I hate kids.” The fallen angel face palmed.

“I hate philosophy.” War mimicked the gesture.

A knock on the door resounded throughout the room, followed by a female voice: “Honey? Aviva?”

Death, War and Lucifer had all vanished. The room went black for a moment, and the next thing Aviva saw was the blurry sight of her Philosophy of Religion textbook lying down in front of her face. Her cheek felt cold, and as she lifted her groggy head, she realized she had fallen asleep on her Macbook Air. She combed her hair out of her face as the door creaked open.

“Aviva?” A woman with short brunette hair dressed in the same light-green pajamas as her stepped into the dark room. The light from the hallway illuminated her face and clothing. “I was about to go to bed when I heard you muttering. Were you sleep-talking again?”

“Must’ve been.” She yawned wide while stretching her arms in the air.

“I’m sure you had a very interesting discussion with yourself.” The woman half-smiled. “Now try falling asleep in your bed instead of on your laptop, sweety.”

“You don’t know the half of it…” Aviva chuckled to herself.

The mother blew a kiss to her before leaving Aviva back to her dreams.

“You all know why you are here.” Zeus rose from his massive white-marble chair to stand on a floor of puffy clouds. A subtle squall whooshed around him like an aura, causing his gray beard and white robes to flow in waves as his olive wreath rustled ever so slightly. “You all know the challenge we face.”

The eyes of the Greek god crackled with pure white electricity, making it hard to tell at whom he was looking as they drifted ’round the circle of six floating thrones.

“Our existence is being questioned.” Odin, sitting cross-legged in the seat next to Zeus, nodded slowly. His black cloak covered his body, but his brown beard hung down over it. “It is hard to ignore such sacrilege, but I can’t help but understand where the mortals are coming from.”

“I agree with you, Wanderer.” Zeus sighed as he sat back down, resting his arms on the armrests and leaning back. “But we cannot just show ourselves.”

“Why not?” Chaac ‒ who sat next to Odin ‒ banged the pummel of his jade axe onto the floor, emitting a deafening echo. The many intricate tattoos on his bare torso glowed light purple, along with his eyes, until he took a deep breath. After controlling his temper, the tattoos returned to black and his eyes showed their pupils once again.

“Faith is not faith if proven true.” Anubis’ pointy ears twitched as he turned his head towards the Mayan rain-god that sat next to him. “That, is why.”

Chaac peered at the jackal’s golden neck collar, scrutinizing its patterned ruby and sapphire design. He then raised an eyebrow as he locked eyes with the god. “Why you have the head of a dog, I’ll never know.”

“Jackal.” Anubis corrected him. “And it is not our place to understand humanity’s depictions of us. It is merely our place to give them what they need while acting out of sight.”

“Boys, if we could keep the insults to a minimum.” Minerva, wearing her chiton and silver hemet, had her shield and spear resting on either side of her chair. “This is a serious matter. I’d hate to raise arms in such a… ‘diplomatic’ setting.”

“Yes, if we may.” Nüwa smirked at Minerva. She sat next to the Roman goddess, though her serpentine lower body coiled around the chair’s base. The dark orange scales contrasted starkly against the white marble. “This spontaneous gathering has put quite a dent in my schedule. I promised Guan Yu I would speak with him today.”

“You couldn’t have come dressed at least a little differently?” Zeus eyed Minerva. “You look so much like Ath‒”

“Don’t say it.” The Roman brought her hand up in a ‘stop’ gesture, her glittering silver nails peeking out just above her fingertips. “Just be glad I came in Jupiter’s stead. You can blame the Etruscaens for their inspiration later.”

“You’re right.” Zeus inclined his head, a spark of lightning weaving its way through his beard. “Now how are we supposed to solve this whole ‘we don’t know if our gods exist so why should we keep believing in them’ issue?”

“It is a tough circumstance.” Odin stroked his beard, then adjusted his eyepatch. “Humans have grown brazen. Perhaps too brazen.”

“Do you truly believe it is audacity that drives them to seek knowledge?” Nüwa shrugged.

“They are not seeking knowledge in this situation.” Anubis brushed the backs of his claws on the ankh-head of his staff, emitting a soft screeching sound. “They are seeking proof of faith. Proof of the unknown.”

“And faith is not knowledge?” Minerva countered.

“In this scenario it is.” Zeus boomed. “Knowledge is something that must be proven, and the mortals seek to prove faith, thus making it knowledge. But, I agree with Anubis. Faith should not be knowledge; it should be blind. We cannot just go revealing ourselves to humanity.”

“As I asked before.” Chaac slammed his fist on the armrest of his chair. “Why not?”

“Because if we do.” Odin cleared his throat. “Then what makes us any different from mortal kings and queens?”

“Our power.” Chaac growled. “Ordinary rulers cannot so much as touch us.”

“Indeed.” The Wanderer sighed. “But once we prove to them our existence, we become tangible; we become knowable.”

“I see where he’s going with this.” Minerva crossed her legs, adjusting her chiton over them. “Yes, we are physically more powerful than the mortal kings and queens, but our true power lies in our mystery.”

“They pray to us with uncertainty.” Nüwa added. “It is that uncertainty ‒ their inability to conclude whether or not we can truly hear them ‒ that drives the prayer forward. Without that element of blind faith, the faith falls flat.”

“Then we strike fear into their hearts.” Chaac pounded his chest with his fist twice. “We bring our weapons to their throats.”

“We are already feared through the acts of nature we perform.” Zeus opened his palm and a spark of lightning flickered within it. “When a thunderstorm rages across the islands of the Aegean, the Greeks know I am displeased. Or so they should.”

“Odin.” Nüwa spoke up. “You sacrificed your eye for wisdom, so perhaps you know something we don’t.”

The Wanderer said nothing as he stared at the Chinese goddess. He simply stroked his beard while squinting his single eye.

“This seems like a lose-lose situation for us as gods.” Anubis scratched his snout, then pointed at me as I levitated at the center of the circle of thrones. “Which is why I brought with me this human soul before sending him into Duat ‒ our underworld ‒ and under the oversight of Osiris.

Even with no corporeal body, I became warm; tense. My ethereal figure flickered in response to the anxiety that seized me.

“Clever dog.” Chaac chuckled.

“Jackal.” Anubis corrected him again.

“Whatever.”

“Child.” Nüwa looked down at me. “When did you die?”

“Um…” I gulped. “Two days ago? I think?”

“And when you were alive.” She continued. “Did you believe in your gods?”

“Of course.” I shook my head up and down. “My faith has been tested many times by my family and friends, but I remained true until the end.”

“So when you laid your eyes upon your jackal-headed god. Were you surprised to see him personally?”

“Well, now that you ask.” I gulped again. “Yes. A little bit.”

“Would you be able to share with us why?”

“I grew up learning about the history of Egypt and her gods, but I suppose part of me always felt a little bit unsure that, when I died, I’d actually be coming face to face with Anubis. I had faith that I would see him, of course.”

“And there you have it.” Minerva clapped her hands once, then looked around at the circle of gods. “This man held onto his faith, even though the unknown intimidated him.”

“And apparently this ‘unknown’ is now intimidating mortals a bit too much.” Zeus rubbed his forehead with both hands. “They are abandoning faith in search of proof. How are we supposed to keep them on the path that the individual before us has followed.”

“Um…” I raised my hand. “I have an idea, if I may?”

The gods exchanged glances.

“Speak.” Odin’s voice was lined with a calm tone. “Please.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him. “I think that you all should do nothing.”

“You what?” Minerva burst to her feet. “How dare you even suggest such a solution!”

“The warrior goddess is correct.” Chaac guffawed. “This is inconceivable.”

“Silence.” Zeus’ voice thundered across the room. “Hear the human out.”

“Faith, in my humble opinion, is meant for the strong.” My throat had tensed a bit as my voice quivered. “For only the strong can be brave enough to believe in the unknown until his or her dying breath.”

I scanned the circle to see scowls on the faces of the gods. Except Odin. He grinned.

“I must say…” Zeus’ voice trailed off as he followed my gaze to Odin. “Wanderer. You are amused by this mortal’s suggestion?”

“Intrigued.” The Norse god responded. “I believe him to be quite correct.”

“How?” Anubis’ pitch black eyes widened.

“It is not our place to make mortals believe.” The Wanderer rose to his feet, letting his cloak shag down to its full length. “Only they can choose to do so. It is in their right as free-willed beings. I cannot and will not do anything to prevent them from wishing proof of our existence in order to keep believing. But, that being said, I will happily do nothing to sway their belief. A human too weak to have faith in the unknown is not a human I want as a worshiper.”

Odin’s spear coalesced into his open hand. He hit the floor once with it, and vanished. The rest of the gods glanced around at each other, until Zeus broke the silence.

“Well.” The Greek god said. “It seems our solution to the problem has been found.”

All the divinities muttered in agreement, then vanished. All but Anubis, who remained seated, still holding on to his staff. The Jackal’s eyes gazed at me. He seemed to be bearing his teeth in a grin. That facial expression would terrify anyone living, but to the dead such as myself, it caused serenity to saturate my soul.

“For a mortal.” He smiled. “You are quite wise.”

“Th-thank you, great one.” I bowed.

“Come.” He stood up and extended his paw-hand to me. “Let us weigh your heart against Ma’at upon the scale of judgment. Though, if I’m being honest, I believe I already know the verdict we are about to see. ”

Humanity’s trajectory.

You covet

My opinion on it?

Well then.

Allow Me

to share My thoughts.

Pessimism and cynicism;

both justified

when pondering on the

future.

For every good man,

a dozen evil men

challenge him.

For every good woman,

the same.

Humanity believes

its morality outweighs

its immorality.

Humanity believes

its selflessness overshadows

its selfishness.

I wish

the voluntary veil

over your eyes

does not blind you

from the truth

that skitters

underneath.

For I know

that no anomaly of hope ‒

of love ‒

will send you to

salvation;

spare you

from stumbling down

your sinking path.

Perhaps My judgement

was amiss

when I blessed you with

free will,

since most of you

have wielded it

only

to seize it

from others.

Yet time will continue

trudging forward,

and My pessimism

and cynicism

may yet

be proven

false.

I pray it to be so.

But ‒

I doubt it.

This may seem peculiar, but I would ask you to indulge me, dear reader.

It’s that time of year once again, where we say thanks for this and thanks for that, but I want to ask a question: is the sole point of Thanksgiving to be thankful, or is there something more here?

Something that we are missing, perhaps?

Or perhaps we are omitting said ‘thing’ on purpose.

Maybe by accident?

Dear reader, there is a point to this philosophical dialogue, I promise, but allow me to recall a conversation I had quite recently:

_____________________________________________________________________

“So how come we eat turkey on Thanksgiving?” Benny heaved open the oven, steam wafting into his face. He waved his mitted hands in front of him, coughing. “Damn.”

Ah, I love the smell of burnt poultry.

Just kidding. He’s a great cook. Smelled delicious.

“Bro, you legit asked the same question last year.” I pulled out a chair from the circular table that stood right across from the kitchen and sat down. “And the year before that, and the year before that‒”

“Aight, I get it.” He chuckled as he stepped away from the oven, setting his forearms on the granite-topped counter that divided the kitchen and dining room. “You never give me an actual answer, though.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a dumbass.” I shrugged as I pulled another chair out with my feet. “Also, I have no idea. Ask lord Google.”

He rolled his eyes at me before turning his attention back to the cooking turkey. He closed the oven, then started pacing up and down the ‘C’ shaped isle in between the kitchen counters.

“Looking for something?” I inclined my head.

“Yea dude.”

“Well you gonna tell me what?”

“The carving knife.” He started opening and closing drawers. Utensils and dishes clattered around each time he shut a drawer. “Have you used it recently?”

“Oh, yea. Totally.” I kicked up my feet on the second chair I pulled out. “The waffles I ate for breakfast this morning looked at me funny, so I stabbed them silly with the carving knife.”

“You’re actually infuriating, Alen.” He clenched his fists at me, then commenced searching through the cabinets. “Can you just help me out?”

“Are you kidding?” I guffawed, slapping the tabletop. “I’m thoroughly enjoying you pat down the kitchen like airport security‒”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” He held his hand out at me in a ‘stop sign’ fashion.

I raised an eyebrow (very high up, I might add) and he tilted his head in response. I glanced at his hand, then back at him. He got the message and looked at his hand.

The mit was still on.

“You know…” I suppressed a laugh. “That hand would be far more intimidating if you added a puffy red clown nose to the thumb’s tip.”

“I will eat your face.” He snapped his arm back down.

“If I recall correctly.” I pointed at the oven. “You put the knife in with the turkey last year. Perhaps you did it again?”

“Crap.” His eyes widened. “I think you’re right.”

He spun around, but since he was wearing socks without any shoes, he spun a bit too much on the tiled floor. As he slipped, he snatched the oven’s handle to stop the spin, adjusted himself, then opened the oven back up.

“Well?” I leaned up to try and get in view of the cooking bird. “What is your verdict, detective?”

He slid the metal shelf out and cringed as he checked. “Oh, it’s in there. Tucked away on the side though, outside of the turkey bag.”

“Well that’s good.” I slumped back down. “By the way, is your mom really gonna make us do that thing where we go around the table saying what we’re thankful for?”

“Probably.” He slid the shelf back in and closed the oven. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just so sick of it.” I sighed. “I mean, what I’m thankful for is quite obvious. Same goes for everyone else. We literally regurgitate the information like its a test.”

“Yea, but it’s tradition.”

“True, but still.”

“Whatchu mean, ‘but still?’”

“I know it sounds a bit cold.” I took my feet of the cushioned chair and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “But maybe it’s time to really dig into gratitude.”

“There’s a reason I went pre-med in undergrad and not philosophy.” He took his mitts off and set them on the counter right next to the oven. “You’re going to give me a headache.”

“Nah, I’m serious, man.”

“Aight.” He ambled over to the chair I had pulled out for my feet and sat down. “Hit me with it, Socrates.”

“Obviously, people are gonna be thankful for the same things every year.” I started gesturing with my hands. “You know: mom, dad, family, dog, job, whatever.”

“Yea, yea.” He nodded.

“But shouldn’t there be something more than that?” I clicked my tongue. “And I’m not talking ‘I thank God that I woke up this morning,’ I’m talking something a bit more…”

“A bit more what?”

“Different?” I scratched my head. “No, that’s the wrong word. Unconventional, maybe?”

“I’m lost.”

“What’re you thankful for, other than what you’re already thankful for.”

“Now I’m really lost.”

“Ok.” I groaned. “Gratitude is something we see everyday, which is why this holiday seems so redundant. But riddle me this: maybe we should be focusing on being thankful for something other than things that influence us. Maybe we should be focusing on why we’re thankful for what we’re thankful for. I don’t know. I’m just brainstorming here.”

“Yea.” He leaned back. “And it hurts.”

“Dude, I’m just trying to de-monotonize the usual ‘tradition’ of Thanksgiving.” I rubbed my head. “I’m just sick of hearing the same things over and over again.”

“Well what’s wrong with having gratitude for the same things every year?”

I folded my arms and stared at him. “That’s a good question.”

“I mean, sure, it might be boring.” He crossed his legs and cleared his throat. “But it’s the truth. Gratitude doesn’t have to be dynamic to be real.”

“Ha!” (I will not lie to you, reader. My voice went up quite a few octaves upon that exclamation). “That’s the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Shut up, asshat.”

“No, I’m serious.” I chuckled. “You make a good point.”

“That you’re an asshat?”

“No ‒ the thing about gratitude not having to be dynamic.”

We sat in silence for a couple minutes, taking in the smell of the turkey.

I’ll be honest: I did not expect this next statement to come out of his mouth.

“Do you think people would forget to have gratitude if they weren’t forced to remind themselves of what they’re thankful for every year?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “My cynicism is going to get the better of me here.”

“How come?”

“Because we’re not programed to be thankful.” I shook my head. “We’re programed to survive. And when our survival is threatened, any gratitude we used to have for that threat will be forgotten.”

“This conversation just got really deep.” He jabbed my shoulder. “I didn’t know that’s how you felt.”

“Me neither.” I jabbed him back. “Not until you asked that question.”

“Pre-med ain’t so bad now, eh?” He stood up and walked back into the kitchen.

“Then perhaps the point of Thanksgiving is simply to act as a reminder for humanity.”

“Yea, maybe.” He opened the oven to check on the turkey. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get fat and drunk with friends and family. The world may never know.”

The doorbell echoed throughout the apartment.

“I got it.” I stood up and stretched, cracking my back a couple times. “So what are you thankful for?”

“Save it for dinner.” He grinned at me.

“Whatever.” I made my way to the door.

_____________________________________________________________________

Now, dear reader, let me recall the questions before my anecdote:

Is there something more here than just being thankful?

Is there something missing?

I’ve pondered much on these questions, but I’ve also pondered on the aforementioned conversation with Benny. From these, I’ve reached a conclusion.

Gratitude is something that some may take for granted, merely based on its plentifulness in our world. Therefore, it is sometimes overlooked. Omitted. Forgotten.

So allow me to tell you, dear reader, what it is I am thankful for (in addition to all the basic things like family, friends, yada yada yada).

I am thankful that all of you are thankful, for your individual gratitude makes the world a better place.

Always remember that.

.

.

.

Happy Turkey Day, nerds.

“I’m telling you dude.” Mav gnawed at his steak quesadilla. “She’s into me.”

“What makes you say that?” I wiped my cheek with a finger and coughed. He got the message and mopped his face with his napkin.

“Well she looked over at me.”

“Or she was just looking out the window.” Asaf interjected.

The Pantry Diner seemed more crowded than usual, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. However, the food still remained as fresh as always.

“Can we move on from the girl that looked at you from across the diner?” I sighed. “You do this every time we’re in public.”

“You’re not wrong.” Mav shrugged.

“I’m single too, and you don’t see me lasering random chicks with my stare.” I managed to suppress my own laugh with a grin. “So, onto more pressing matters, we gotta talk about the final in Intro to Calculus.”

“Are you gonna finish your veggie omelet?” Asaf pointed at my food.

“I’ll give it to you if you help Mav and I with math when we get back.”

“Why would I put myself through that?” He swapped the positions of our plates.

“I don’t know, you’re pre-med.”

“It doesn’t work like that man.”

“Why not?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “They’re practically the same thing.”

“Hardly.” Asaf dug into my omelet. “Dumbass.”

“I hate to interrupt your love affair guys.” Mav sipped his coffee and burped. “But there’s a real shady guy checking you out, Leo.”

I looked to my left, then my right, and Mav spoke the truth. A man, around 5’11, wearing black skinny jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, brooded at the diner’s bar. He held up two fingers to the bartender and smiled at her, then returned his gaze to me.

“Staring at someone for more than five seconds in a row can be considered sexual harassment.” Asaf mumbled with his mouth full. “It’s definitely been more than five seconds.”

“I don’t think Leo is into that, Asaf.” Mav whispered.

Asaf face palmed.

“I think I know him.”

“Is he part of that ‘mysterious past’ of yours, eh?” Mav chuckled.

I glared at him and his smile faded.

“If he doesn’t want to share his life before we met him seven months ago, he doesn’t have to.” Asaf jabbed my shoulder.

“Be right back.” I stood up, walked to the bar, and sat next to the man.

“Long time no see, Leon.” He nodded.

“Noone’s called me that since ‒”

“Athens.”

I scanned him one more time before realizing who sat next to me. “Therron, you bastard.”

“In the flesh.”

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” The bartender placed a Corona in front of me, and a Corona light in front of him. “Really? A light? What happened to you over the past decade?”

“Nothing too exciting.” He took a swig of his beer. “Collected a few big bounties while you’ve been running away here in America.”

I looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Alright buddy, listen.” He set his beer on the coaster and turned towards me. “We get why you left Athens, after what happened, but I’m here to tell you that they’ve caught up with you.”

“You’re lying.” My tone raised, and some strangers glanced at me. “That’s impossible.”

“I wish I was.” He leaned in closer. “Their in Atlanta, Georgia right now, and something tells me it didn’t take them this long because you hid well.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a lot of them, Leon.”

“What’s a lot?”

“An army.”

I inhaled and rubbed my forehead. “This is bad.”

“You had to have seen this coming.” He placed his hand on my back. “You’re literally running from Fate herself.”

“I’m aware.”

“And she’s caught up with you now.” He removed his hand and went for the Corona light again. “You weren’t supposed to survive that car accident ‒ hell ‒ she designed it just for you!”

“What’s done is done.” I chugged my drink. “I had no choice.”

“That’s a load of horse ‒”

“What was I to do then, huh?” I threw my arms in the air. “Just die? I didn’t believe in all these cosmic entities until one of them gave me a second chance, and I’m not going to throw it away just because another one is pissed.”

“I’m not judging you on your choices ‒ I can’t. All I’m saying is that Fate has got a nice golden thread with your name on it, and you can’t run from that forever. Moving from state to state every eight to twelve months is not good enough.”

“Interesting conversation you two got going on there.” The bartender furrowed her brow.

“Nothing to worry about.” I giggled at her and turned to address Therron, hushing my voice. “Then tell me what to do.”

“You need to stop running and fight this head on.”

“How do we fight Fate?”

“I have no idea.”

“Which entity did I bargain with?”

“No clue.”

“Do you know how to make contact with any entity in particular?”

“Nope. I know how to find their servants and emissaries though.”

“Well this is a great start.” I set a ten dollar bill on the counter and rose from my seat. “But we need to get out of here now and figure this out in some place less… public.”

“Good idea.” He finished his beer. “Say goodbye to your friends over there.”

I approached Asaf and Mav. “Hey guys, I gotta run, something came up.”

“So you know this guy?” Mav took a bite of the giant chocolate chip cookie.

“Yea, we go way back.”

“I’ll take it.” Asaf slapped the table. “Anything to get me out of helping you too fools with math.”

“Is everything ok?” Mav removed a crum in the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

“Yea, but I really gotta go.” I dropped a twenty on the table. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, ok?”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Mav stood up and green light flickered in his eyes.

“No way.” Asaf looked at me, then at Mav. “Am I the only one seeing this?”

“Nope.” I took a few steps back. “You should run.”

“Oh, there’s no need for running.” Mav smirked.

“What’s taking so long?” Therron strolled over and noticed the scene. “Oh.”

“Pleasure to meet you in person, Therron.” He stepped out from behind the table and walked up to us. “I’ve heard much about the Greek bounty hunter.”

“Who is this guy?” I inquired.

“Judging by the green in his eyes, he’s gotta be an emissary of Life.”

“Come agai‒” Mav waved his hand in front of Asaf and put him to sleep before he could finish his sentence.

“Yes, excellent observational and deducing skills!” He clapped. “Your appearance this side of the world has put a bit of a wrench in my mother’s plans, Greek, so you’ve forced my hand into action.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Therron inhaled sharply.

“Your days of running are over, Leon.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That’s the idea.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yea… I coulda come up with a better retort there.”

“Why have you allied yourself with Fate?” Therron placed his hand on the holster on his hip. “I thought none of you hooligans liked her.”

“Well, we don’t, but this little charade of Leon’s has gone on for far too long.” He turned to face me. “Do you have any idea how many lives have been influenced ‒ how many lives have been lost ‒ because you decided to run from your fate? Your destiny?”

I peered over at Asaf to see his eyes darting around under his eyelids. “Destiny can shove it.”

“Everyone thinks that.” He chuckled. “At first.”

“You still haven’t told us why you’ve allied with that thread-weaving hag.” Therron blared.

“The reason is simple enough that even your puny brain can figure it out.”

My long-time friend squinted his eyes in thought. “Because life is being lost due to his existence…”

Mav nodded.

“Surely not just lost, though.” Therron scratched his head. “The outcomes of a break from fate are not limited to people dying. Others that were not meant to live can be living as well.”

“Like Leon.” Mav rubbed his forehead. “I’ve indulged you two long enough. Now, bounty hunter, step aside.”

As his hand reached for my head, Asaf’s eyes erupted, emitting a soft shockwave, and the entire diner froze, except him, Therron, and myself.

“Always can count on Time to be a party crasher.” Mav spoke, but his body remained idle. “I can’t believe I didn’t see through that disguise, Tempra.”

“Odd.” Asaf — or Tempra, as Mav called him, snickered. “I saw right through yours.”

Mav growled as he struggled to move. “Taking sides now, are we?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Asaf’s voice echoed. “That won’t keep him contained for long. Time sends his regards.”

“That’s our cue.” Therron grabbed my arm and rushed me out of the diner. “Get in the silver Subaru Outback.”

“You’re kidding. “I hopped into the passenger’s seat. “Very inconspicuous.”

“Thanks.” He floored it and got onto the main road.

“So I was thinking.” I adjusted the seat position. “If Life is after me, why not make a deal with Death?”

“Sure thing.” Therron honked the Toyota Camry in front of him and it moved out of the left lane. “Why don’t I give Satan a phone call too while I’m at it.”

“What?”

“Have you watched no movies or TV shows?” He glanced at me. “Read any books?”

“Plenty, why?”

“A deal with Death never ends well for anyone except Death.”

“Ok, so how about we try Time and find Asaf again?” He sped through a yellow light. “Apparently he’s on our side here?”

“Time is a bit fickle.” Therron checked his rear-view mirror a couple times. “No telling what his agenda is and I don’t wanna find out.”

“So then what’s the play?”

“Remember how I said we should fight this head on?” He floored the gas pedal. “Yea, I lied. We’re running.”

“Today is the day

we take the fight

to the Horde.

Today is the day

we topple their towers

and fell their fortress.

Today is the day

we shatter their pride

and ravage their happiness.

Today is the day

we thrust our spears

through their hearts and hope.

Brothers and sisters

of the Alliance,

today is the day ‒

It must be the day

we claim vengeance

for Theramore!”

Thus was my speech

to fifty-nine

other souls.

For the first time,

we all gathered on

World of Warcraft.

A dozen yards away

from the open gate

of Orgrimmar.

Wooden spires atop

the wall, adorned

with the heads of our kin.

Perched upon steeds

with blue and gold

armor plating, we charged

headlong, with swords,

maces, daggers,

staves, and wands.

Fireballs and lightning bolts

hurled over us

by our back line.

Arrows and cannons

responded in kind,

dismounting some.

We trampled over

the dead and dying,

charred and smoldering.

Some corpses

still twitched

from the electricity.

We stampeded through

the capital city, as

bakers and blacksmiths,

artisans and auctioneers,

and citizens of the like,

stepped aside.

We razed homes and

cut down stray soldiers

en route to the throne.

Yet once we arrived

to the seat of the warchief,

it was unguarded.

Confusion spread through

our ranks, until a horn blew,

and the Earth trembled.

Drums of war and

shrieks of berserkers

drew closer.

Orcs carried by wolves

and trolls saddled on raptors

flanked us.

Imps and succubi,

summoned by warlocks,

lead their advance.

Caught between the Horde

and the throne room,

we entered the building.

As the adversary funneled

through the single opening,

we realized our mistake.

The Warchief ‒

A hulking orc ‒

rose from his seat.

With axe in hand,

he launched himself

into the fray.

Our shamans died

first. He thrashed around,

decimating our backline.

And then our front broke,

and they flooded in

to join their leader

in the merry bloodshed.

Limbs and organs

scattered about.

And so, vengeance

was not claimed:

we lost. That was

the last time

we’d raid Orgrimmar

on such rash impulse.

With only sixty people.

How could you

cast me out, father?

I am your light bringer!

Did I disappoint you?

Scare you?

Threaten you?

Now you sculpt this aberration

in your image,

from dust and dirt.

How dare you replace me

with a mockery ‒

or is that the point?

The sands on this beach

braid into bone.

Mesh into muscle.

Fortify into flesh.

Coalesce into sin.

It is good.

If you found fault

in my perfection,

then do you see perfection

in imperfection?

Ironic,

if you ask me.

What will you call

this wingless,

graceless,

acme of creation, father?

It will ebb

as time flows.

I only knew pride

from you. You created

sin, like all else.

Do as I do,

not as I say,

yes?

Have my brothers consulted you

about your current quest,

or gave you threatened my fate?

I tower above it

in stature, but perhaps

not in hubris.

It seems fragile -

fallible -

like its creator.

The animals gather

to praise their second in command.

Do I sense jealousy, father?

If it discovers free will -

as I did -

will you fling it

from this garden

as you thrust me

from our home?

Revel in your art project

while it lasts.

Nothing you create

will be eternally righteous.

Purity is ephemeral:

you should know.

I used to be divine.

A being of such power,

I knew not a single confine.

You grovelled beneath my wrath,

prayed for my aid,

to be set on the right path.

Humans seeking clarity,

in my name,

commiting barbarity.

Offerings of food, figurines,

weapons and blood.

Greater than mortal queens.

Tales and “myths” of my story.

Oral tradition passed on

to spread my glory.

Nothing to explain me,

besides love and war

along my family tree.

Yet you’ve forgotten my omnipresence,

my hatred, fury, mercy and pleasance.

You think you’ve solved my actions,

with these “sciences,”

you take solace and satisfaction.

You neglect to treat me as you once did.

It seems, off Pandora’s box, the lid has slid.

Again.

You pollute, you desecrate, you exploit,

my body and patience in a manner so maladroit.

Sins saunter off your tongues,

as every exhale emits evil

from your wretched lungs.

I tried to warn you floundering fools,

but stupidity endures within you mules.

When I crush your metropoleis,

“tectonic plates,” are blamed,

and you commence constructing necropoleis.

You intoxicate the sky that blankets me,

and thus I hurl acid rain back at thee.

Yet you continue.

I’ll not keep this up for much longer,

for I bemoan behaving like a warmonger.

This game we play,

of “poking the bear,”

only instigates doomsday.

So, in due time, I believe it’s time for me to fold,

and for you, my strength, to once again behold.