He Who Paints War

Back in the Siladhi Forests, the crooked man took the boy into a nearby cave. Within, there were already lit torches at regular intervals along the rocky walls. Further in was a larger room. A bunch of painted canvases were strewn about the place with monsters of various designs and appearances on them.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” He speaks.

The boy is dropped on the floor by the hounds. He keeps his eyes aimed at the mysterious, cloaked man.

“You must hate me.” He smiles, teeth broken and some missing. “My mother once believed in her hatred and rage. But it’s no good. Pure hatred isn’t enough.”

The boy moves his arms, using them to raise his body, but he falls back down onto the ground.

“Why destroy my village?” The Boy asks.

“I think you’re misunderstanding something here. I wasn’t the one who destroyed your village. I came searching for you in the aftermath of your village’s destruction. One of the idiots of your town, who wanted to torment you, brought a monster into town and lost control of it, because you were caged up, you couldn’t kill the beast. And instead watched as it killed everyone in town. Despite the fact that it wasn’t your fault, you blamed yourself anyway.” He explained. “You, the son of the town’s only hunter. Your father, killed in action. You, punished for things beyond your control. None of this was supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?” He questions.

“What if I told you, you had a much higher purpose? That someone like you had their fate stolen from them. By the hands of people who don’t even belong here.” He spoke.

“My fate… Stolen?” He questions.

“You were the next hero.” He states. “It would’ve been your duty to rescue the world from calamity.”

“There’s no way that’s true!” He exclaims.

“It’s true. You’ve held a sword since you were three and even surpassed your father by the age of ten. A natural-born prodigy of the sword. Yet, your talent was stifled by people jealous of you. Your town was supposed to house the hero’s necklace. Even that role was taken from it. The lack of money from the tourism it would’ve drawn left your town impoverished. In a world where skills can make you rich, everyone covets your talent.” He explained.

“That can’t be right.” He says, clutching the dirt with his hands.

“And it’s because of them.” He says.

He points his wrinkly, elongated finger at the canvas to the left. The hero turns his head to see a painting of Leo and Arte. The two of them were happily eating skewers in town, the painting surrounded by a warm atmosphere. Around her neck was the hero’s necklace.

“I’ve been watching them since they arrived. I wonder why this formerly perfect world was changed. It was their fault. They’ve inserted themselves into this world’s story and ruined it.” He explained.

“Even if what you’ve said is true… The hero is someone chosen by the goddess herself. If she believes that they’re worthy… Then, who am I to get in their way?” He states.

“Welp, I tried to be nice.” He sighed.

He pulled out his brush and dipped it into a bottle of jet black ink. He raises the hero’s shirt and begins painting on his newly acquired canvas.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts.

“Quiet down. I’m working.” He states. “If I can’t convince you to take on the role you were quite literally made for, then you’ll have to serve my purpose instead.”

“Get your hands off of me!” He shouted, his limbs weak from the paralytic still coursing through his veins.

“Be still, one wrong brushstroke and you could end up in a vegetative state.” He says. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

The brushstrokes began to form the shape of a black hole, and the boy’s shaking became involuntary as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Time to cast off this disgusting, twisted body.” He smiled.

Erstwhile, in the School of Blades, Leo was standing outside of room 505. Upon opening the door, he encountered his roommate sitting at one of the desks on the right side of the room.

“Hey.” He says without turning. “I already took the right bed.”

“Hey… I’m Leo!” He introduces.
“I know. I’m Caius Grandam.” He introduces.

Leo plops down on the left bed, dropping his bag next to the bed.

“Nice to meet ya,” Leo says with his arms behind his head. “That’s a nice scarf you’re making.”

“Thanks. Do you knit?” He asks.

“I don’t, my mother does.” He stated. “I would often watch her when I was younger.”

“I see.” He continues to knit.

“Well… I’m off to do some training, so I guess I’ll leave you to it.” Leo says.

“Later.” He says nonchalantly.

Leo exits the room and stands in front of the door.

“Hm… How did the hero befriend him again…?” Leo thinks while walking down the hall.

By this time, the sun was already setting, Leo looked around, making sure no one was nearby, before opening the window and climbing up to the roof. The tiles clacked with each step he took up there and found a nice flat spot near a door leading up to the roof.

“In the game, you never could open this door, but the hero would often come up here to do some meditation.” Leo thought.

Leo sat cross-legged on the white stone floor of the rooftop. He focused his mind. Slowed his breathing. Closed his eyes. His anima swells and gently envelopes his body, like a blanket. In his mind, he imagined small firefly-like creatures bathed in a white glow. They were moving to and fro, dancing through the dark space in his mind. He reaches his hand out to grab them, but they swiftly dodge him, curving around his hand like he’s in slow motion.

“Oh. This might be harder than I thought…” Leo mutters.

While Leo was doing that, Arte was out behind the female dorms trying to imbue her blade with fire. Imagining the flame from her memories, a spiral of flames would erupt from the guard of the sword and spiral upward before fading, only leaving her blade red-hot.

“This isn’t good. I can’t get the flames to cloak the blade.” She says. “I guess I can’t rush it…”

Meanwhile, Caius stopped his knitting and put on a dark cloak before heading out of the dorm room and disappearing under the coming veil of night.