The Matchstick

The scream tore through the trees like a blade.

Ray snapped back to reality —
no thought, no hesitation —
just pure instinct driving him through the undergrowth, dodging branches, lungs burning.

It was Trey’s voice.
And Trey never screams.

Ray burst into the clearing — and froze.

Marsden was crumpled against a shattered tree,
his body limp, a smear of blood trailing down the bark.

Trey stood at the center of it all,
his greatsword buried through the Druid’s stomach —
pinning the monster to the trunk behind it like a grotesque trophy.

The Druid thrashed weakly,
one arm missing, face mangled beyond recognition.

Trey gritted his teeth, leaning into the hilt with all his weight, sweat and blood pouring down his face.

The monster shrieked one last time —
a dying, guttural sound —
before a shadow split the sky.

Dean.

He fell like a meteor —
only one wing flickering behind him —
dual wind-forged swords screaming through the air.

Dean hit the ground with enough force to crack the earth,
both blades delivering a brutal slice across the Druid’s neck.

The Druid’s head separated cleanly —
a fountain of blood spraying against the blackened trees.

The severed head and the tree behind it split apart under the force of the blow.

Dean crashed hard into the dirt,
his body skidding across the ground, trailing blood.

Trey collapsed onto one knee, finally releasing his sword.
It clattered against the roots, soaked in gore.

Ray couldn’t move.
He didn’t know how.

The battlefield was silent now —
except for the ragged breathing of three broken boys.

Ray stumbled forward —
falling next to Marsden first.

"Come on, Mars," he whispered, hands glowing faint blue.
He poured magic into his brother's shattered body, rewinding torn muscles, broken ribs, ruptured organs.

Marsden’s eyes fluttered open, dazed, confused —
but alive.

Ray moved to Trey next —
mending the shattered bones in his shoulder, the deep gash across his thigh.

Finally, Dean —
his leg bent at a sickening angle, blood soaking his entire side.

Dean didn’t even flinch as Ray worked,
staring up at the sky blankly,
like he wasn’t really there anymore.

They built a fire with trembling hands.
None of them spoke.
None of them could.

They just sat, staring into the flames,
listening to the blood dry on their armor.

The Green-Eyed Totem sat in the dirt between them,
glowing softly.

Dean picked it up without a word.
Held it in his hands.
Stared at it like it was some kind of golden ticket.

Far above them, unseen,
the world watched through the eyes of silent black ravens.

The real world erupted in chaos. Front page news across the world as the Claytons became heroes. The first Totem had been found and claimed.

The real world couldn’t sleep. Betting sites broke the banks as people bet on how long it would take to find the second Totem and how many would die.

The next morning, they packed in silence.
Ray watched Trey and Dean sling their bags over their shoulders with practiced ease.

Marsden cracked a joke about the smell of burnt wyvern guts still stuck to Trey’s sword,
but even he couldn’t summon his usual laughter.

The world had changed overnight.
And they all felt it.
They started the long walk back to Gem City.
A three-day hike.

Two whole days where Ray stumbled along the ground,
while Trey floated lazily above on the shadow of his sword,
and Dean glided effortlessly through the skies.

Marsden stayed on foot with Ray for the first day —
making awful jokes, zipping ahead with little lightning cracks, always coming back.

But slowly...
slowly...

even Marsden drifted upward,
hovering more and more often.

Ray felt it in his bones.
The weight.
The burden.

One night, they sat around a fire.

Trey and Dean plotted tactics — new formations, faster attacks, sharper strikes.

Ray tried to contribute —
a half-formed idea about slowing entire groups of enemies —
but Trey barely acknowledged him.

Dean didn’t even look.

Marsden stayed quiet, fidgeting with a pebble in his hand.

Ray barely slept that night.

The next morning, Ray woke to find Dean already packed.

Already hovering high above the treetops,
silver wings spread against the breaking dawn.

Trey shaded his eyes, looking up.

"What the hell you doing, man?" he called.

Dean didn’t answer right away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.
Dead.

"I’m done."

Trey stiffened. "The fuck you mean?"

Dean descended slowly —
wings folding around him like a cloak.

"I’m going to go make a deal," he said, landing softly.
"With the Kingdom. They want to stay here. I want to stay here. We should join them. This is the world I have always dreamed of! We fucking matter here. This world is better than the real world. Living paycheck to paycheck. Fuck that. I’m done. I'm a hero here. I get a fair chance here in Elysium!"

Trey’s hand went to his sword.

Marsden stood rigid, thunder crackling faintly at his fingertips.

Ray just stared.
Frozen.

Dean’s face didn’t change.

"They want the Totems," he said simply.
"And I want to stay."

Trey stepped forward, eyes blazing.

"This isn’t real, Dean. This is a fucking game. We have to go home."

Dean laughed — a bitter, broken sound.

"My life here is perfect, I don’t need to hide in another world here, back in the real world I could only dream about living in a game!" he said.
"For once... I’m not trapped. For once… I get a choice."

He looked down at Ray.

"Don't try to stop me," he said quietly.
"You can't."

Trey drew his sword with a hiss of metal.

Marsden's fists lit up with white-hot lightning.

Ray’s vision swam —
he tried to slow time —
but Dean moved first.

Too fast.

Dean appeared in front of Ray in a blink —
striking him across the temple with the flat of a summoned blade.

Ray's world spun into darkness.

When Ray opened his eyes again,
the clearing was a storm of chaos.

Trey hurled himself through shadows —
sword swinging in great, brutal arcs.

Marsden shot through the air on trails of lightning —
dashing and punching with furious desperation.

Dean weaved between them,
a silver specter of death —
wielding twin swords of howling wind, every move effortless.

Ray tried to stand.

Trey roared —
crashing his blade into Dean’s side —
only for Dean to spin away, wings snapping open.

Marsden zipped in low, lightning crackling —
a flying uppercut aimed at Dean’s ribs.

Dean caught him mid-air,
spinning him and slamming him into the ground with bone-cracking force.

It wasn’t even close.
Dean was better.
Stronger.
Faster.
Unstoppable.

Trey dropped to one knee, breathing hard, blood running down his face.

Marsden stumbled to his feet, fists still up, but legs trembling.

Dean hovered above them, swords fading into mist.

"I'm sorry," he said.
And for the first time...
He sounded like he meant it.
He turned east without another word.
And soared into the sky.

Ray crawled to Trey’s side.
To Marsden’s.

Their blood mixed with the mud.
Their hearts broke quietly under the rising sun.

Somewhere far ahead, the Kingdom of Stone awaited.

And their brother had just been crowned as one of the five Generals of The Stone Kingdom.