Gwyn aimlessly roamed the halls. She didn't know where her room was and didn't care to ask.
A hooded figure held her nose as Gwyn walked by.
"Gods, she smells like a wabbajack's cage."
Gwyn didn't know what that was, nor did she have the energy to roll her eyes at them.
"Oh, look, another Chosen One. The Queen wasn't enough for your kind, huh? Are you going to kill our King now?"
The figure stood in front of her, blocking the path.
Gwyn just hobbled around them.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Other taunts followed, but she ignored them.
There was something she couldn't ignore, however. A singular thought that lingered like a migraine.
Five years to kill the King of Terror.
A motionless expression painted her face as hooded elves battered her with sarcastic offenses. Gwyn was beginning to wonder if elves were even capable of making a comment that didn't register as an insult or derogatory statement.
Yet, out of all the insults thrown, they were wrong about a few of the things they accused her of.
Gwyn was no murderer; perhaps she was unattractive, or possibly incompetent. The only word that hurt was 'useless'. It resonated deeply and brought back painful and powerless memories.
The King of Terror. The King of Terror.Only five years to save these asshole elves from the mother fucking King of Terror.
A thought occurred to her.
Maybe I don't even want to save them.
The remnants of a smile crossed her face.
I hope I develop awesome powers. Maybe I'll join him and kill all of these ungrateful dickheads.
Gwyn was getting quite crabby.
"Hey, Chosen One!"
An elf prepared an insult.
"Go fuck yourself."
Gwyn's emotionless voice somehow terrified this elf. Their smug expression suddenly went sour, and maybe even a little scared. They didn't say anything else. Well, at least nothing that she could hear. Gwyn didn't even have the energy to smile at their degradation.
Five years to kill the King of Terror.
Gwyn sighed.
How utterly hopeless. I can't believe that old freak compared me to a dead fish.
Another turn down another long hallway in this labyrinth of a building revealed what might almost be personal dormitories. Gwyn peered into one of the rooms with an open door to see if it had any sign of being hers.
Perhaps a greeting card would say, "Welcome to Keceo!" With a bouquet of flowers.
The thought spawned a weak chuckle.
This room was cluttered and messy, filled with—
"Excuse me."
A soft voice interrupted her investigation.
Gwyn nearly jumped out of her skin. She was half expecting them to wrap her in snakes, or something. Her body tensed as she turned around.
"That's my room."
It was a sweet voice… almost polite. Gwyn didn't know the elves were capable.
Gwyn backed away from the room, as if she had been caught in the middle of a crime. The hooded robe obscured the face behind the voice. Pointed ears pierced the black fabric. Pink hair dangled down past the chest of the hooded figure.
"I'm sorry."
Gwyn backed away into the hallway. She felt even more embarrassed than when she bathed naked. This person, or elf, was being kind to her. Or at least, they weren't being unkind. The docile tones of this elven woman disarmed Gwyn's negative emotions.
"I think your room's over there."
The woman pointed further down the hallway to a room whose door was coated with various pieces of parchment.
"T-thanks."
Gwyn walked away without another word. She couldn't tell if this was another inhabitant who resented her for invading their world, and she wasn't going to stand around to find out.
When she approached the door to what she assumed to be her room, it was covered in hundreds of notes. Notes upon notes. They overlapped, and no care was taken in their placement. Each was in the native Elven language, but Gwyn could read each of them clearly.
We don't need you.
One of them said.
Find another world to rune.
Another said, wrong ruin, by the way.
We can save ourselves.
An exceptionally brutishly written one-read.
Gwyn huffed and thought to herself.
Well, if you can save yourselves, why the fuck did you summon me?
The pieces of paper were seemingly never-ending. This endeavor wasn't worthwhile, Gwyn had decided. She crumpled the ones she tore from the swarm of paper notes and tossed them aside. She opened the door and, with force, pushed it closed.
Several notes swayed to the floor as she stood behind the door. The dozen or so elves that posted the notes stood in the hallway, looked towards the room, and chuckled, feeling satisfied that the notes they posted seemed to have their desired effect.
Gwyn, however, was exhausted. Mentally and physically.
One thing she hadn't realized was how much the Summoning took out of her. Every footstep felt like one hundred. This was the most taxing day of her life. And she was right, at least, so far.
Her eyes remained affixed on the bed as she approached it. The sheets were neatly folded under the mattress. Bliss. Pure bliss. Rest and relaxation were just a short distance away.
The sun was shining through a large window that touched the ground and stretched to the ceiling. She stared out the window from where she stood at the door, and a ringing invaded her ears.
"God, I'm so exhausted."
It just dawned on her that she was on a different planet; she wondered what it was called.
Was it Keceo, or was that just the name of the continent?
She suddenly felt her body being guided to the edge of the room. Every step was labored, and honestly, didn't feel like her own. Once she reached the window, she stared out into the expanse. Gwyn could see the city from where she was—the thatched roofs and stone architecture. Gold was occasionally used to paint infrastructure throughout the city.
Beyond the houses, she could see The Wilds. A forest teeming with magical energy. Trees of vibrant colors and a mystical forest waiting to be explored.
She felt the forest calling to her. But maybe that's because she craved isolation at this moment.
She could see the Wall in its shimmering white radiance just a little further in the distance. The last defense for the elves. It was all that was protecting them from complete and total destruction.
The view was astonishing; truly breathtaking. She hadn't experienced a view like that up until this point.
With a stark realization, Gwyn felt the pressure again. The expectations placed upon her by Ren Drakefire, the Head Whisperer. The hatred others graced her with for simply being the "Chosen One."
The title is superficial, she noticed almost immediately. No real weight or privilege is being gifted from such a bestowment.
Gwyn thought of all the stories she had read in which people revered the Chosen One or at least provided them with assistance. But it was a Chosen One in those stories, not a Chosen twenty-five. She is most likely the last Chosen One in a long ancestry of many failures and setbacks for the Elven people.
Guilt swept over her as she leaned against the window. Her face pressed against the transparent surface, staring deeply into this magical world. She didn't know how to be a savior, how to cast magic. She knew none of the Elven customs despite the Understanding. It was only through magic that was not her own, she could comprehend the people she was meant to save—the people who wanted her to die if she didn't produce results.
Her role required experience, and Gwyn hadn't lived much of her life until now.
She suddenly regretted every day she stayed home and mourned for those she held dearly. She felt the death of a once-happy family all over again. Then, an image of her father appeared in her mind. The last remaining person who was close to her.
She was reminded of how he would pull her close whenever things were difficult, extinguish all worry in one firm hug. He somehow made her feel like everything was going to be okay, even when she knew it wouldn't be.
That's right!
A lightbulb went off in her brain. Her father. What was his name again? This was all a dream. It has to be.
Elves weren't real. Magic wasn't real. She would wake up soon, and she knew it. All she had to do was step forward. End it all before it even began.
This world didn't want her, and she didn't want this world.
Every journey begins with a single step—a weightless feeling.
Freedom. Serenity. Peacefulness.
And then she was falling.