Chapter 9
Written by Bayzo Albion
I clenched the coins in my fist, feeling their weight press into my palm—warm metal etched with faint marks of ancient empires. Real gold. Solid and heavy, like the words I hadn't spoken to the elf, promises left hanging between us like half-formed spells.
First money… then freedom. If fortune smiles, guiding me with her fickle grace. If not—then I'll belong to a smiling sorceress whose eyes close like traps, her gaze weaving webs of obligation strong enough to bind even the wary. The thought sent a shiver through me—part fear, part forbidden thrill.
Desire throbbed through me, sticky and relentless, a wave of heat that wouldn't let go, coiling in my veins like a serpent awakened from slumber. Every glance at the local women made it worse, their forms gliding through the streets like living artworks, each curve and smile a siren call that tugged at the primal corners of my being. They were flawless to the point of pain, each one like a sculpture carved by a mad but brilliant god, imbued with an ethereal perfection that bordered on the divine—eyes sparkling like jewels, hair cascading in silken waves, laughter tinkling like crystal bells in the gentle breeze.
The more I looked, the more the fire spread—raw, primitive, ungovernable, a blaze that consumed rational thought and left only instinct in its wake. My mind fogged in a haze of want, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm, and my body screamed for release, for some way to burn off the pressure that built like a volcano on the verge of eruption, every nerve alight with unquenched need.
I bit my lip and laughed bitterly to myself, the sound hollow in the bustling street, a self-deprecating echo that masked the turmoil within.
"So this is paradise? Not golden harps strumming eternal melodies, not eternal wisdom bestowed upon the worthy… just temptation on every street corner, lurking in every glance and gesture. A training ground for willpower—or a carnival of downfall, where the rides lead only to ruin, disguised as delight."
To keep from losing my mind in the storm of desire, I pulled up the interface. Its holographic glow appeared before me like a loyal companion, pulsing with options that promised control over chaos. Menus unfolded like petals—sliders for emotions, toggles for perception, cryptic settings that looked as if someone had coded divinity into an app. Finally, I found it: Resistance to Temptation. I dragged the slider to maximum.
Relief washed over me like cool water on a burning throat. The fire didn't vanish, but it sank deeper, tamed, leaving only faint embers of humanity. My mind cleared, thoughts sharpening—as if a window had opened, letting in fresh air to sweep away the fog.
So it's that easy? If only life back on Earth had sliders for this sort of thing, adjustable dials to tame the wild beasts within, turning tempests into gentle breezes with a flick of the finger… The world would have been a different place, free from the chains of impulse and regret.
I closed the menu with a satisfied nod and turned toward the nearest passerby: a woman dressed in a radiant white robe that flowed like liquid moonlight, her presence almost blinding in its purity, an aura of serenity enveloping her like a halo. Her movements were so serene, graceful and unhurried, that she could have been mistaken for an actual goddess on holiday, descended from celestial realms to mingle among mortals.
"Excuse me, my lady," I said, adopting my most courtly bow, sweeping low with exaggerated flourish as if addressing royalty, "could you kindly direct me to the nearest place where I might acquire clothes? Your guidance would be a beacon in my hour of need."
She blinked, her luminous eyes widening slightly, as if I had nudged her out of some gentle daydream woven from threads of ethereal contemplation.
"Ah… yes. Follow this road straight to the end. There is a single cottage there—it serves as the local shop, stocked with garments to suit any wanderer."
"My thanks, merciful goddess," I replied with mock solemnity, dipping my head even lower, my voice laced with theatrical reverence as if she were indeed divine.
Her lips curved in a faint, almost maternal smile, warm and indulgent, like a parent amused by a child's antics. "I'm glad to help," she said softly, her words carrying a soothing cadence that lingered in the air. Then she tilted her head in a gesture of farewell and glided away, her steps so smooth, her figure so radiant, it was as if she had dissolved back into the sunlight itself, leaving only a faint glow in her wake.
I straightened, exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and muttered to no one in particular, the words tumbling out in a mix of determination and whimsy, "Wait for me, my first set of clothes in this bizarre new existence."
Strange… I had already gotten used to being naked, the vulnerability transforming into a peculiar comfort, as if I had already donned an invisible armor of indifference. As if I had been born this way—and had nothing to be ashamed of, no societal veils to hide behind, just raw authenticity in a world that demanded none.
I walked along the cobbled road, each step a deliberate march toward my first true quest: acquire clothing and, at least in appearance, look like a human being again, blending into the fabric of this society rather than standing out as its eccentric outlier. The stones underfoot were smooth and warm, worn by countless feet yet impeccably clean, as if the world itself conspired to maintain perfection.
I threw my arms wide, embracing the absurdity, and cried out, half-laughing, half-mocking, my voice ringing through the air like a challenge to the heavens:
"Ah, how wonderful it is here! No worries gnawing at the mind, no fears lurking in the shadows. Eat if you want, savoring flavors that dance on the tongue; love if you want, entangled in passions that ignite the soul; do nothing if you want, basking in lazy repose under endless skies. Absolute freedom… or is it only the illusion of freedom, a gilded cage where choices are boundless yet somehow scripted?"
My voice echoed back to me, bouncing between perfect buildings with their pristine facades and perfect trees with their flawless foliage, sounding lonelier than I expected, a solitary note in a symphony of silence.
I remembered something a priestess once told me back on Earth, her words drifting through my memory like incense smoke:
> "The heavier your life on Earth, the brighter your heaven will be."
Maybe she'd been right, her wisdom a beacon in the fog of mortality. Only nobody had warned me that light this bright could blind, searing the eyes with its unrelenting glare, leaving one yearning for the comfort of shadows.
My bare foot landed on a smooth gray stone, unremarkable at first glance—just one of hundreds scattered along the road like forgotten pebbles in a stream. Yet something about it caught my eye, a subtle gleam that hinted at more than mere rock. It was too clean, too polished, as if someone had taken the trouble to buff it to a shine, imbuing it with an unnatural luster amid the natural splendor.
A thought flickered in my mind before I could stop it, whimsical and absurd: I wonder what it tastes like.
After all, I was in paradise, a realm where boundaries blurred and impossibilities beckoned. And here, as everyone kept insisting with serene certainty, nothing could be bad, no action fraught with peril. Maybe this wasn't a stone at all but some unknown candy, a delicacy disguised in humble form? A heavenly lollipop masquerading as gravel, waiting for the curious to discover its secrets?
Without thinking, driven by that impulsive spark, I bent down, picked it up between my fingers, feeling its cool weight, and licked it. Just… ran my tongue over the stone as if this were the most natural act in the world, a casual experiment in a laboratory of wonders.
It tasted… salty. Pleasantly salty, with a subtle tang that evoked aged cheese melded with a faint mineral note, earthy and intriguing, lingering on my palate like an unexpected gourmet treat. I almost licked it again, tempted by the novelty.
"What the hell am I doing?!" I exclaimed, jolted out of my trance as reality crashed back, and hurled the stone back onto the road, watching it skitter away with a clatter.
I froze, staring at my hands as if they belonged to a stranger, then at the road stretching before me, then up at the sky, vast and unjudging.
Am I losing shame? Or have I already lost it, cast it aside like an outdated garment in this realm of unbridled liberty?
Then, like a true idiot-philosopher grappling with existential whimsy, I began to justify myself, rationalizing the absurdity in a whirlwind of internal debate:
No. I'm just a child here, reborn into innocence. Only a few hours old in this world, wide-eyed and exploratory. This is mere curiosity, a spark of wonder untainted by convention. Scientific research, probing the boundaries of reality. I'm an explorer charting unknown territories. A scholar dissecting the fabric of existence. Yes, yes. Entirely normal, a natural progression in a place where norms bend like reeds in the wind.
I exhaled slowly, the breath steadying my racing thoughts, shook my head to dispel the lingering oddity, and kept walking as though nothing odd had happened, the incident tucked away like a quirky footnote in my burgeoning legend.
But deep inside, a splinter of unease lodged itself, sharp and persistent:
What if I'm not just losing shame? What if I'm becoming… part of this world? Adapting to its rhythms, surrendering to its allure, dissolving into its harmonious flow like ink in water?
With those thoughts gnawing at me, burrowing deeper with every step, I finally reached the cottage, its modest form emerging at the road's end like a promise fulfilled.