I concede, at one point, the Summoning instilled hope within our people. It was a non-orthodox way for Elves to liberate themselves from the encroaching Red Death. That is in the past, however.
All the Summoning does currently is cause us more problems than it solves. We've summoned drunkards, morons, dead-to-rights, good-for-nothing creatures that die the instant they breathe our air. These Whisperers have gone mad, insisting we continue to summon these fools. Tradition be damned. If this were to solve our sorrows, it would have happened twenty-five thousand years ago.
Statement from Elder Archimedes to the Great Eight.
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"Chosen one? Prophecy? I didn't sign up for any of this!"
Gwyn was now frantic.
This couldn't be real. This has to be a dream.
"None of you, 'sign up for this'."
The Head Whisperer air-quoted, a knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.
"'None of you'? What does that mean?"
There it was again, implying Gwyn wasn't the only one this happened to.
The pair stepped into the daylight of the Teleportation Sanctuary. The dragon's empty eye socket seemed to follow their every step as they walked through this wing of the Gilded Towers.
"You aren't the first."
"First? First… what exactly?"
She searched the old elf's face for answers, but he was unreadable.
He said nothing as they stepped on the emerald gem, heading back to the suspended platform—green tendrils wrapped around them, holding them firmly in place. After a moment, Gwyn felt the same nauseating pain from before as her vision twisted.
They reached the top of the Gilded Towers. A breeze touched their skin.
Drakefire sauntered forward.
"You get used to that feeling."
Gwyn was trying to catch her breath.
"I hope so…"
Gwyn closed her eyes until the dizziness subsided. She raised her gaze and gasped, surprised she hadn't noticed it before.
A wall constructed of crosses stood like mountains. They radiated an indescribable light that wasn't like that of sunlight or moonlight; it was something otherworldly.
The Wall towered beneath the clouds, overlooking Keceo's protection. However, protection was the optimistic viewpoint.
The Elves were within a prison. Death would seek them should The Wall ever surrender to the Red Death. A magnificent cage of their own design.
"W-who are you… What is this?"
"I am Head Whisperer Drakefire. But you can call me Ren—and this," He stepped aside. "Is Keceo, our home. The place you are destined to save."
It was hard to take it all in or comprehend what she was looking at.
She approached the edge of the platform, looking down. The Capital looked tiny from up here. Elves moved like ants in the streets and within the gardens of the Gilded Towers. She lifted her gaze, and not too far away was a castle made of glass that stood mightily upon a hilltop against the horizon.
Not too far from that was a large bulb-like building made of crystal; it shimmered and shone as Gwyn adjusted her gaze.
"There is something I must tell you, Gwynevere."
The Whisperer stood in the center of the platform. A brisk wind tugged at his robes.
She looked up from the edge of the platform.
"What is it?"
His face was sullen.
"I had to pull some strings to get you here. If Elven kind were going to save itself, I believe in my very soul, it would have happened by now."
What he was implying greatly concerned Gwyn.
"What does that have to do with me? I'm just a normal human. I have no fantastic abilities. I'm just a girl."
"A human?"
He put his hand to his face, thinking deeply but ultimately dismissed the word.
"Here's the thing. And this may provide you with some amount of hope." He cleared his throat. "Nearly every Chosen One we have summoned up until now has had some… special ability," Ren explained this fact with some excitement.
"The Vecronomicon, a very old and creepy looking book, allows us to summon one creature from somewhere in the universe once every hundred years. You are the twenty-fifth Chosen One."
He pointed directly at Gwyn.
Part of her knew she was supposed to be excited. That this was the hero's journey and, in the end, she would succeed.
Deep down. Deep, deep down. Doubt was eating her alive. This wasn't a story she would want to be a part of.
"Why me? What about me makes this… happen?"
Gwyn gesticulated to herself; disappointment clouded her face.
I am seriously nothing special.
Ren looked complacent.
"We don't know who or why someone is picked, truthfully. The Vecronomicon has never been wrong. We must trust in the First."
Gwyn glared at Ren.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Many questions go unanswered in our lifetime," Ren said plainly. "But you are here now, and that means you must help us."
"Must?"
Gwyn laughed; she was wordless.
"Yes, must. There is no option now, there is no going back."
No going back.
It echoed in her mind. Consuming her thoughts. She was suddenly terrified. This wasn't a dream. This was her new reality. Panic swallowed her whole. She stumbled, falling on her back.
No going back, no going back.
An image of a lovable, bearded man appeared in her brain.
Dad…
Ren stepped close, placed his hands on her shoulders, and muttered silently. The anxiety, panic, and worry all faded. Gwyn closed her eyes, and the tears that were forming couldn't manifest.
Gwyn wiped her dry eyes.
"What… what did you do?"
"I'm sorry, Gwynevere."
He truly meant this statement. He was either a very good liar or his mournful appearance had her completely fooled.
"I'm sorry it had to be you. We do not choose the life we have, but we have to live out the one we are given. You are here for us, and I am here for you."
The warmth lingered, and Gwyn smiled at the Head Whisperer. She even thought about hugging him, but she stopped herself.
"I don't know what to say."
"Well then! Are you going to answer the call to action? Or abandon this world entirely?" He stepped away from her. "If you truly do not wish to be here, I can numb your body, you can leap from this platform and fall to the ground below. You won't feel a thing; all you need to do is close your eyes."
"No!" Gwyn shouted reflexively. "I… I don't want to give up. Or… do that."
Gwyn suddenly felt a lot less close to this individual.
Is he insane? Who offers something like that?
"Are you sure? I don't offer that horrible fate to scare you, but it will be easier than any challenge you will soon face."
This was a serious implication. Gwyn balled her fist. She thought of her dad, sitting alone.
Is he looking for me now?Is he even aware that I'm missing?
At that moment, she decided that if there were a way to get back to Earth, she would find it. A fiery determination was lit within her.
"What can I do to help?"
"Right now? Nothing."
"Nothing at all?"
Gwyn nearly choked at his words, getting whiplash from the lack of urgency.
"There is a bit of a problem… You see."
Ren suddenly appeared hesitant and much more bashful. All of what he had just done with Gwyn could be considered the easy part. Now he had to say what he'd been dreading.
Gwyn adjusted her glasses.
"What problem?"
"What I said was… more poetry than anything," Ren admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm still offering you to jump off, it's really not that—"
Gwyn held out a hand.
"I'm not going to do that."
What is he going on about?
Ren swallowed hard.
"The truth of the matter is… the twenty-fourth Chosen One, the Chosen One before you, also known as the 'King of Terror,' has… caused us… Some problems."
Ren spoke slowly, trying to find the right words.
Gwyn blinked, unsure if she heard him correctly.
"T-the King of Terror?"