LAST JOURNEY

Hi everyone, I was a little missing from here, but today I bring you a fantasy story that for some reason came to my mind. I hope you like it:


"The Elven Mage delved deep into the Forests, opening a small wooden door and stepping into the stables; he was searching for a man they called Salesian. It was late at night, with the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the night’s shadows. Dark as the night sky, thought the elf.

When the man he was looking for finally appeared, he set down his staff with a few muffled chuckles.

"Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you far too long, and you know I don’t like that," said the Mage.

"There’s no need to rush, my dear fellow, the Morning Sun is still up," replied the man.

The mage fell silent and shot him a sour look. It was as if his eyes were voicing his thoughts.

"Oh, don’t be so arrogant," said the man. "I know you’re eager to rid yourself of that curse, just as I am, in my own way. I can’t stand looking at your twisted face, those ears bigger than your body, your enormous nose that steals my breath away. No, I don’t like any of it."

"No more jokes, Salesian. We need to prepare the Ritual quickly, before the first ray of light touches the surface. Otherwise, I’ll never be myself again," replied the Mage. For a moment, he thought about what might happen if the plan failed and he remained an elf as the man had mentioned. I’m scared, he thought. What if I never see my family again?

The dark trees cast a play of light on their faces. In the depths of the trunks, long silhouettes seemed to watch them, with harsh, ember-like red eyes that cut through anything that moved with their gaze. What are they doing here, thought the mage, they should have been dead after the end of the Third Age.

But this wasn’t a major concern during the journey. They had to stop three times to recover; their limbs were sore and swollen when they dismounted. Then they continued along the path until they reached their destination, the Dawn Stone, as beautiful as it had always been, he thought. The man constantly made jokes, as if it were a physiological necessity.

The Elf took off the necklace hanging around his neck and awkwardly placed it into the opening in the Stone. Afterward, he took the dagger and drew his own blood, writing in an ancient tongue now known as the "Language of Sorcerers," inscribing parts of the Spell, only those that were necessary. By the black feathers of crows, he thought, by the coronation of the dead’s corpses, on the day of the final dawn, the sick and the skeletons will rise from their stone beds, no matter the cost.

They spent the entire day there, sitting still, as they waited calmly for the dawn. Redmuel, the name of the Elven Mage, upon waking, looked at his hands and realized they were no longer light green but had turned a normal human pink. I can’t believe it, he said, did I do it? Did I... finally do it?! And then he deliriously celebrated.

However, it didn’t last long. Looking to the side, his friend Salesian was no longer there. Instead, there was dark red in his place, but no sign of a corpse. The price to pay, he thought, he knew what would happen, but still, he came with me?! Redmuel couldn’t comprehend. In the end, happy with what he had achieved after so many years, he went to the Tavern to celebrate.

At that exact moment, a voice he hadn’t heard in millennia began to reappear.

"Redmuel?! Don’t you remember me?"

I hope it’s not who I think it is, he thought.

I

Redmuel watched the Twilight come and go during Dawn, with the bright rays of sunlight. He had wondered since the day he was cursed if he would ever see such a scene again in his life. Fortunately, he had escaped the curse, and his life had, at last, returned to normal; but something didn’t seem right...

Was this my life before? he wondered, and stifled the thought with optimism, as he always used to do. Generally, people considered him quite optimistic and praised him for having a gift that few possess nowadays; the gift of patience, in a way. He headed to the kitchen to make a frothy coffee, as usual, somewhat bitter.

He picked up the documents on the table, and the headache came back. He was so used to doing this; filing taxes, paying social security, electricity bill, water bill, health insurance, property tax, vehicle tax, and countless other taxes. Each passing day made him question why he didn’t leave things as they were.

Well, look on the bright side, at least I don’t have to eat leaves all day anymore. Generally, most Elf races ate leaves, not by choice, but because meat from any animal was toxic to them. The leaves tasted awful, too bitter, and when chewed, it formed a "ball" with saliva and leaf mash.

Under the second drawer of his desk was an old, wrinkled, moldy book, covered in excessive dust, titled "Spells Beyond the World," a cliché and meaningless title, but it contained absolutely complete information on the topic, explaining the origin of Sorcerers, how to summon ancestral spirits, dark conjurations, Alpha conjurations, Beta Test (spells used by the First Ones during Dragon hunts), and many other things that seemed straight out of a fairy tale.

He read about Goblins, a small and mischievous race of Elves, but with a coldly well-structured hierarchy. The oldest Goblins led, being the most experienced, the most effective in battle, followed closely by the younger ones. The oldest decided strategies and communicated them to the rest of the band, forming an almost invincible army...

When they were enslaved by the Kaab, archers from the Nefalithic Tombs, deep in castles like Nefarr and DarkHouse. The battle ended as swiftly as it began. The best archers were at the back, the average ones at the front, and the worst in the middle. As the average and worst fell, the best took advantage and shot precise arrows at the enemies, almost always winning the battle.

He turned the page. The list of battles was now before him, the dozens of fantastic battles explaining the behavior of almost all races, from Elves to Mystics, from the Forgotten Era to the Legendary Dawn; from the tales of the Liar to the banned songs of Yoovack.

He closed the book. He couldn’t stay there wasting time; he had to pay all his dues to start the next day right, without excessive concerns and demands from the State, the damned State. For a moment, Redmuel wished he could be a child again, but unfortunately, he couldn’t manipulate time.

Nightfall came before he realized it. The stars formed a constellation of pale dots in the unending darkness, a kind of celestial lighthouse guiding lost men with their comforting glow. The city below was calm as it had never been before; resplendent under the soft touch of the Moon’s lustrous aura and its companions.

A few kilometers ahead, wild wolves could be heard in the shadows of the trees, solitary, never finding their families or companions. The howls grew more agonized; songs only they could understand. A wolf never strays far from its pack, some said, but it seemed that wasn’t always true.

And still, the deaths did not cease; every second a new person’s blood flowed among the dead and limp limbs of a corpse. Redmuel couldn’t understand; there were so many healing races living among humans, why did none of them care?

Redmuel realized he had been becoming very pessimistic lately; and that was bad, adding to his daily worries. What was happening to him? Since the day he turned human again, his pessimism had only grown.

He stopped worrying. He went to bed; after all, it was already late, though he hadn’t realized it while paying the remaining bills. Being an adult is complicated, he joked, but at least I paid everything I owed. That makes my day better haha.

II

It was Saturday. At 5 a.m., as he used to, he started running to stay healthy and fit, to better endure the coming week. He put on his usual clothes, a bit dirty from not wearing them for so long, but he didn’t mind.

Seeing people once more was gratifying. Running, talking to the kind old ladies sitting in front of their homes, petting the puppies who leaped with joy while walking with their owners, chasing squirrels with their tongues out all the time. What made him happiest was seeing them, he liked dogs, found them friendly, literally man’s best friend."