"So assuming Blake is a runaway, where do we start?"
"The closest friend. No matter who he confides in."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Grammar? From you?"
"I woke up once or twice in school and I fucking hated you."
For some reason I couldn't fathom, after that disastrous conversation with Matt in the cafeteria, I found myself back in the classroom. I guess my feet got me there, just muscle memory, because I had no idea what class it was. I figured it was right, though, and there was a little green index card pinned to the board in front that said "Carl Stockelson" and it said where I was supposed to sit - right in the back. Right next to the window, which is exactly where I like it. Somewhere I could escape the attention of others, look absentmindedly at the street, and completely ignore class.
Of course, that's what I ended up doing right away. The rest of the room became a dull, vague, dull hum. I can't forget my conversation with Matt. It started with rage, rage and frustration rolling over my face like someone pressed a hot pan against my cheek. How could Matt be so stupid? Blake is fine, we're just wasting our time when we should be out looking for him.
Jen supports him too! Matt isn't always right. I was right as often as he was. I've done so much for Jane, you'd think she would be more supportive of me. I saved her, damn it. Matt did nothing to help her when we separated. If I hadn't found her, if I hadn't rescued her...
I shudder. No one should have to go through that kind of pain.
The bell rang, and more students walked into the classroom in groups, talking and laughing. I glanced around, trying to find any clues as to what class this was. I saw maps of Europe and America on the wall and drilled down to specific countries. History, I guess? I tried to dig up everything I could remember about their history, but I couldn't decide which names and details were from Earth and which were from Seravir.
Was the Oster woman the leader of the uprising that overthrew the Western Roman Empire and plunged Italy into chaos? It was the Visigoths who assassinated the last god-king of Laudranan, paving the way for the enslavement of Sarnvalan , and created an economic miracle, bringing this rough country back to the forefront of civilization? Was it Selman or the Medici family who first discovered this problem, and then in Sylva
da
Was caught and tortured by elves in the forest?
I sighed. I'll figure it out on the fly. I really don't have a better option, and improvising under pressure has brought me a lot of success in the past.
Our teacher, not much older than me, started lecturing in an upbeat, cheery voice that was completely out of context with the topic. He seemed to think that talking at length would capture his students' attention—as if he could interest them simply by talking. What an amateur. I prefer a regular drone so I can ignore him and ignore class more easily.
My eyes were still on the street outside, but I wasn't really looking at anything in particular anymore. My vision blurred as I lost myself in the memories. Anything to get me out of hell on earth - on the wrong Earth. I couldn't completely disappear from the classroom or classes, but I still found myself using it as a springboard for escape. As the teacher began to explain things about the American Civil War, I was reminded of my own war.
No story about war, even from the most vivid storytellers, can prepare you for real war. You'll feel the heat, sweat, and grime as you stand on the battlefield for days or even weeks, blood dripping from arrowheads embedded in flesh, and swords and armor clashing around you. Sword fighting isn't what you might expect either. There's no dancing or fancy, tricky footwork on the battlefield. A real sword fight between two heavily armed guys is like two mountains crashing into each other. Swinging the knife is useless as it will just bounce off the plate. Your best bet is to try to get through the gaps between the pieces, where it can slip through weak spots and pierce their flesh.
More often than not, though, I just see the strong hitting the weak with their shields or blades, as many times as possible, into submission. Once someone is down, you have to actually kill them.
However, complete armor like this is rare and only owned by the truly special or very wealthy. More often, you just see hordes of men being felled by hails of arrows as they charge, or stabbed to death with spears by men on horseback. Once you're actually in it, you're just another face in a group of guys wearing light armor and holding pointy objects, trying their best not to get stuck on anything.
Obviously, none of this applies to the American Civil War. It was a war with guns that had yet to be invented in Sierraville. I've toyed with the idea of introducing a similar weapon, but to be honest, I don't really know how to make a female or something similar to a rifle - if that's even possible in Sierraville. Additionally, the few renegade elves we recruited have enough long-range firepower to replace the cannons. They were not ruined by rain or exhausted of bullets and gunpowder. They are exhausted from overuse, but just give them a day and a good meal and they will recover completely.
But I could have ignored the complaints about Manaus and Setaeus. Elves can get really whiny sometimes. I never dared mention it to Jane, but they seemed strangely immature as a race. Of course, you'd expect the elves to be arrogant, but despite their obvious abilities and overwhelming protectiveness of their home forest, they seemed completely unprepared when we attacked. This is ridiculous. A capital-e empire expands to completely surround your home, and obviously requires resources to sustain itself - wouldn't you expect them to want to move into a few large expanses of forest that grow incredibly fast, without any apparent need for water or nutrients? Anyone would be tempted by such a rich garden.
they are so
aïve, almost a man. I was relieved when I found a few people willing to switch sides and join us. It humanizes them, for lack of a better word. I even made friends with one of them, even though he was old enough to be my great-grandfather. He knows how the world works and how to stay ahead of the curve.
Yeah, maybe we all ended up on the wrong side, but come on. At the time, it was the right decision.
I surfaced for a moment and felt like I was swimming in a sea of memories. The teacher is talking about why the Union won the war. “…They did hold the moral high ground, but it was more than that. The North simply had more cash. General Lee mentioned this in his 1865 surrender. War is ultimately a question of resources. That has always been the rule. Who has it? More, whoever can move wealth faster, wins. Leadership helps, but if you have more people, bullets, and food, and you have factories that keep producing these things, you'll be fine. "
I snorted. I didn't mean to; I definitely don't need the attention right now. But his conclusions didn't fit with what I knew. It's a terrible habit, but I can't help but correct other people's mistakes.
To my dismay, I found a sea of people waiting for my answer. I tried to ignore them and stared out the window, trying not to attract anyone's attention. The teacher smiled at me with a condescending friendly smile that really wanted me to knock that smug look off his face.
"Well, we have a volunteer. Well, Carl, what are you thinking about?" he asked cheerfully. How could he be so happy about such a topic? That bothered me more than his smile. I didn't care about the passing cars; I was determined to destroy that cheerful personality.
"Morale".
"Morale, huh?" He looked surprised. "Well, that makes sense. Many Southerners didn't actually believe in slavery, or the Confederacy itself. General Lee himself freed his slaves, and it's believed that part of the reason he seemed to lose ground when he left Virginia was that he Only believe in defending your homeland, not the country as a whole. Like I said, the North holds the moral high ground. This helps the troops maintain morale." He seemed to want to move on to another topic, but I interrupted him. I studied this war as I had studied many other wars before. I've always been particularly fascinated by history and war, and that hasn't changed at all.
"Fuck their morals. The North, like the rest of the country, is all about money." I took a deep breath and continued, emphasizing my point and giving the audience time to digest. I know how to control a crowd when necessary. "The war was won by the side that preferred ruthlessness. There were no rules. Union troops burned crops and towns. They killed civilians. They destroyed every possible infrastructure to weaken the South's resources. They looted and raped." I saw several people in the room cringe at the word. An overly sensitive bookworm. "Scorched earth, that's Sherman's trick. It works wonders."
I should know, this works great for me too. Thanks, General Sherman. Studying all the successful American generals paid off, in a very unexpected way and definitely not what my teacher expected. Hearing my answer, he hesitated a little, holding the whiteboard marker between his fingers. At this point I'm really into the discussion.
"It's very common. The Soviets were in Germany after World War II, the Japanese were in Nanking. There are many examples of this, going all the way back to Rome and Greece. When you invade a hostile country with a different culture, the most effective way to appease them is to be thorough Destroy their way of life. You make it impossible for them to recognize their country anymore. Destroy their society. If they can't unite on some common ground, they can never hope to fight you."
I really enjoyed being able to speak from my own experience to an attentive audience. One kid decided to speak out. Someone I don't remember, if I ever knew him in the first place.
But many wars are fought for moral or religious reasons. You can't say it's not a huge factor in whether they win or lose. "He sounded so
aïve, I almost salivate at the chance to correct him. The teacher did not interrupt, but leaned against the whiteboard and watched the debate unfold. He seemed reluctant to get involved, which was just right for me. Every head in the room was swishing between me and the other student as we traded blows.
"Morals are worthless once you're on the battlefield. It's just you and the other guy, and the other guy is going to kill you unless you kill him first. Religion just reminds you that if he gets you first, he's going to kill you." There’s something better waiting for you.”
"Okay, but that's low-level. What about high-level stuff?" he retorted. I realized I hadn't answered his question. Oops.
"It's the same thing. Yes, things like ethics may help you recruit and retain employees, but you better hope that the people who are actually strategizing for you don't get caught up in this stupidity." Blah blah blah. . I meant to say nonsense. After all those months of us hiding together, Jane's colorful curses had found their way into my vocabulary.
"What?" he asked confused, but I had already rushed forward to cover it up.
"It doesn't matter what time it is, what era it is, or whether you're in another damn dimension. War is always the same. History is written by the victors, and everyone wants to look like a hero in the end." Once you're actually out there It’s different.
I turned back to the window and watched the car pass me again. My face is still hot from the attention and arguments. I forced myself to calm down and focus on tapping my fingers on the side of the table to the rhythm of the regimental march in my head. One, two, one, two, three, four, one, two. After a few tense seconds, I felt the anxiety slip away like a blanket sliding off me. The cool breeze drifting in through the open windows was refreshing. My mind is clear.
Of course, this meant that the real stress I was facing came back with a vengeance.
"Well, I guess that's... a way of saying it." The teacher finally spoke. I briefly wondered what his name was—and then I remembered, and I didn't care. A few kids looked at me strangely. The teacher started to teach again, but I couldn't listen anymore.
I stood up and the room became quiet again. alright. I can still do it. I calmly picked up my bag and strode out of the room without looking at anyone. I couldn't stand being there anymore. So many feelings started rolling through my head as new anxieties and fears of recurrence came back. As I walked down the hallway, I started jogging and passed a worried staff member at the front desk. She called my name, but I ignored her. I didn’t stop for anything. I stepped out into the warm sunshine and smelled the smell of trees and earth from the earlier heavy rain. This was the first time I felt welcome since meeting Jen before lunch. I need this.
I needed to leave this world and go back to where I belonged.
＊＊＊
It’s a cliché that it’s easier said than done, but it’s a cliché for a reason. My first instinct was to go back to Sierraville Forest where it all started, but the park was too far. That night we asked Matt to drive us and meet Blake where he was on the phone. Today I just wandered around the suburban streets for a while. I couldn't go home, for more reasons than one.
The nearly identical houses took a toll on my brain. They were so neat, so perfect, and it bothered me. I could consciously tell myself that it was more efficient, that it would make a bigger difference financially, but I longed for the villages in the mountains and valleys, or those huge port cities and capitals. They build around nature rather than transforming it to their whim. Of course, this is more out of necessity and lack of ability, but it gives them more charm and personality. I have to get back there.
Ten minutes later, I was on a bus bound for the other side of the city. The other passengers gave me a few casual glances, probably wondering why I wasn't in school, but I was mostly alone. I also wanted them to think I was in college. I need time to think and strategize.
Since Blake wasn't at school, he had to stay home. At this point, there is simply no other option. Adela should be home by now, but she might have fallen asleep. The night shift in the hospital was excruciating, and she would usually eat something to help her sleep before returning to a dark room where it was dark 24 hours a day. I didn't expect to meet her. I'll go in, find Blake and we'll figure it out.
I wish he would make a call or send a text message. Anything is fine. He knows my cell phone number, or he can find me in a chat room, or instant message, or even a damn email. anything. But he was one of those people who was completely isolated from the rest of the world. He might have been distracted by something and forgot to check in.
As the bus approached the stop closest to Black's house, I reached out and tugged on the yellow rope hanging from the ceiling. The lights in front came on and the bus skidded to a stop. I jumped out of the car and thanked the driver. He gave me a noncommittal nod in response, but I didn't mind. Courtesy is cherished but does not need to be reciprocated. The key is the quote, not the receipt. People who don't default to politeness will sooner or later encounter someone who offends them, and they will discover what their lack of effort means.
A few blocks away, I found Blake's home. His community and mine were very different. The houses are older and the yards are much larger. More trees line the sidewalks and even dot the center of the streets, with roads surrounding them rather than through them. Despite how important Blake's house looms in my mind, it's actually not that remarkable. I had built it up so well over the past few hours that I thought it would be glowing and surrounded by clouds, but it was a quiet afternoon. I vaguely remember a neighbor walking his dog across the street and another mowing their lawn, but that’s about it.
Without further delay I went straight to the door. I didn't knock. The door was unlocked and I had long stopped waiting to get in. I quietly opened it and peered inside.
The hallway opened before me, leading to a carpeted staircase leading to the bedroom. There was a small table in the middle of the hallway that held a home phone, its red light flashing with the message I had left this morning. At the end of the corridor is an empty kitchen, with tall windows showing the empty yard in the distance. I glanced to my right, and there was no one in the living room either. It doesn't take long to see how lifeless this house looks thanks to its open, spacious layout.
Fear seeped into my bones, like I was a ship beginning to sink beneath the waves. My heart jumped into my throat as I climbed the stairs step by step. I was completely silent. I know these stairs better than my own home. Blake and I used to have a game about who could sneak upstairs and surprise his mom. You have to know exactly where to go because every staircase has a place or two where it creaks at even the slightest touch. Even seven years later, I know the process inside out. I should feel like I'm home, but without my best friend, it's not home anymore.
No. Stop thinking like that. He would wait for me in his room. Probably just fell asleep. When he came back he was so energetic that he stayed up all night and then slept all day. Maybe he stayed up late to watch his mother come back from her night shift. This is understandable. This makes sense.
When I reached the second-floor landing, the two doors were ajar. One was his parent's bedroom door, which didn't bode well for me. When Adela slept, she covered her room with thick curtains and made sure the door was closed tightly to help her maintain a regular schedule. If the door is open, she's either not home yet or...
I can't wait any longer. I pushed open another door and walked into my best friend's room, where I spent a lot of time playing games, watching movies, reading, or just hanging out on lazy afternoons. He should be sitting there right now, feet up on the table, staring at the monitor. But he's not. I turned around, expecting Blake to be lounging in bed reading a book.
He is not.
"Karl?"
My heart sank. That voice was so feminine. Mother's. not him.
Adela was half standing in Blake's closet, sorting out her clothes. She was tall, like Blake, with long pale blond hair, and a strong build, like the rest of his family. Her face tilted to one side, confused and surprised. She dropped her clothes and jumped when she saw me.
"Uh...hello."
"You scared me to death," she said breathlessly.
"sorry."
She shook her head, bent down to pick up the clothes, and hung them up. "That's good. Are you okay?"
"Huh?" I asked, connecting the dots myself. Of course she would ask. I didn't go to school, I should have gone. "Oh. I guess so. I just..."
"Need a day off?" She blinked. "Don't worry. I won't tell your parents. Your grades can handle it, right?"
"possible". I shrugged. I think so too, but I don't know what my current results are. "I thought you were asleep."
"You think this place belongs to you alone, don't you?" I decided to do a few things first. Don't worry, I won't bother you soon. Adela said as she continued to fold the clothes and quickly finished wearing the clothes in the basket.
"No, it's okay." I sat down beside Blake's bed and looked around. I intentionally bumped the keyboard tray under his desk, lighting up the screen. The conversation from the day before we left was still on the screen. Blake, tell me what he saw. Let me go there. Matt asked. Get everyone together and go into the woods.
He should be closed by now. I could feel the truth creeping into my vision, but I kept pushing it away. I was begging, pleading with God to make this stop. In my head, I was screaming. Make it not true. Keep Blake out there and stuff like that.
"My son doesn't have a jump rope, right?" Adela asked casually, reaching out to put something on the shelf above the clothes hanger. When I heard her words, my mind suddenly stopped. She had no idea Blake was missing. Blake should be gone so Adela can come home. I moved my feet back slightly and felt them touch the backpack covered by the bedspread under his bed. She didn't know he didn't come to school today.
He could never go back to school.
Black is——
Oh, God. No.
I felt it cascading over me, like a waterfall breaking a dam after many small cracks. I accepted the reality and hit my head hard. I felt tears starting to form, but realized that what Matt had been trying to cross finally broke through those same mental walls.
If we want to live long enough to travel back in time, we're going to have to have fun. Blake's mother discovering her son was missing wasn't part of the plan.
Even when my chest feels like it's going to collapse, like my heart is going to burst in my throat and tear my lungs to shreds, I have to stay silent.
That second seemed like an eternity. I finally figured out an answer.
"Of course not. He has a test today."
Adela turned around. She looked suspicious. I squirmed internally, this was so strange to me. I interrogated the scum of the kingdom, but she still had power over me. Did I hesitate too long to answer? Does she know?
"Carl, what happened?"
"Is something wrong?" I answered as calmly as possible. Guilt slowly crept through my body, along with a raging swirl of sadness and anxiety. I confessed the fate of her son to a woman I considered a second mother—who had supported me time and time again. I felt terrible, disgusting.
She walked over and sat next to me. There's no way I'm going to lie to her again, right? That's not the case.
"Did you quarrel with your father again?" she asked calmly.
Finally breathed a sigh of relief. There is some calm in the storm. She found something completely different, something familiar. Most importantly, in my current state of mind, it’s not fake.
"More or less," I answered honestly, glancing up at her. Her eyes are so kind and intelligent. I swore to myself that I would tell her the truth. Not today, but I will. She had a right to know that her son had been a hero. He saved countless lives. I will immortalize him in history and let everyone hear his name.
She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a brief hug. "Carl, I know he can be a little harsh sometimes, but he does love you."
"Hmm," I snorted sarcastically.
"Believe it or not, all parents make mistakes."
"You've given speeches like this before," I pointed out glumly.
"That's still true," she said. She ruffled my hair, which I always pretended annoyed me, but honestly, it really comforted me. "He wants you to succeed, and he's doing what he thinks is best to make that happen."
"But I've succeeded." I murmured.
"Being a student, maybe so, but there are more important things in life than being a student." Of course I know. I stopped being just a student a long time ago. It's hard to argue with results like mine, building a guild from scratch and becoming the emperor's closest advisors and friends. Power and success are things I'm used to. Here I am just helpless.
weak.
I can't change anything. There is nothing I can do. my best friend is
Emotions roared back into life, and this time I was powerless to stem the oncoming flood. I felt drops of water falling on my legs, warm drops of water falling on my cheeks.
Adela looked alarmed. "Carl, what's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," I choked. I do not know what to say.
"What? Talk to me. Tell me what happened."
"I can't." I stood up, a little too quickly. The blood rushed from my frail old body, making me dizzy. I was stumbling a little, but I got it under control. I got it under control. I walked towards the door. "I have to go."
"Karl, wait," Adela started, but I had already left the room. I take the stairs two at a time. I need air. Except for the cramped spaces of this suburban nightmare. I walked out onto the street and the sight of the trees was enough to calm my panic, if only for a moment. But as the fear dissipated, it was once again replaced by creeping, overwhelming fear and utter despair over the loss.
Black is dead.
This sentence finally flashed through my mind. I kept dancing around it, ducking and trying to avoid its sting.
My best friend is dead.
I started running. I don't know where to go. I don't care where I go. It would be nice to go anywhere, but I can't go anywhere.
Black is dead.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
