A Friendly Visit From the Darkworld Tourist's Creator [Part 1]

The obsessive thoughts from last night lingered until my alarm rang. The only periods of sleep were several short forty-minute periods of rapid-eye-movement interrupted by uncomfortable tossing and turning. Once I finished getting ready I dragged my feet downstairs and through the connecting hallway until I sat down at the breakfast table in the kitchen. The awareness of everything I was now responsible for at school barely registered as I ate bits of scrambled egg, groaning with every bite. 

My mom who sat across from me, affirmed my current groggy state with a "Uh-hum" as she busily chewed through her own portions of food.

"You were out rather late last night, mind telling me what happened," she asked.

"I got a nasty conk on my head, nothing too serious."

"Please message me next time you're staying late, Akira."

"I will. Sorry. I'm not doing anything dangerous, don't worry."

My dad asserted his presence with the squeaks of his slippers against the pristinely mopped tiles, humming the tune of a long cancelled Draftant adapted stage show. He engaged in the usual ritual of snuggling close with my other parental figure in a way that would create new little micro mental scars.

"Oh, morning Akira," he yawned, taking his seat at the table.

My mom served my dad his portion of food, and he scarfed it down with the same vigor as I would on any other day. Of course, this wasn't the only youthful aspect about him. At the precarious age of thirty-seven his black hair managed to maintain the same volume, and his golden eyes the same luster as they did when he was still in high school. It was amazing how a natural tan from the outdoors and a cheek bandage could create a stark contrast of people's perception of you. I was honestly envious of his positive reputation.

"Have you been talking to Erina," he asked.

"Y-yeah," I choked out, self-consciously nibbling my breakfast.

"Tell her to come over more. You've been rather quiet lately."

I packed the backpack under my chair after taking one large decisive bite of food.

"I'll be sure to talk to her about it."

I fast-walked to the front door, only to be beckoned again.

"Hey, Akira. I know last summer was pretty harrowing for you, but I don't want this to affect your reading habits. Draftant novels bring a lot of beauty to a plainly cut and dry Protochara. I don't want you to miss out on it."

I struggled for a response as I felt my throat close up. I decided to close the door and brace myself for the daunting task of not only finding three members, but finding clients for the Patron Saint's Book Club.

***

I passed by several children several years younger than me, who brandished swords at each other. Life around Doorstopper had become so stagnant and mundane, kids would steal their family's Archiver and start world hopping. One of the many things they'd recreate from those fictional worlds were usually the weapons wielded by the characters.

I felt a weird sense of relief that neither of the four children playing in front of me had a magical silver and black scarf with them. I guess that means The Darkworld Tourist was blacklisted at libraries and shops in Doorstopper after the summer incident. I wasn't sure I condoned the the censorship of books, but easily imitated acts were a broad category for Saints. 

As a result of young Saints' horseplay, more often than not you would usually see a lot of chipped concrete and clay tiles or tiles missing entirely on the roofs of my neighborhood. It did get better the further you traveled to the bullet shuttle, but it certainly didn't help the case of Doorstopper getting more interesting Draftant novels to read.

In the distance I could see the one landmark that drove traffic to our town. 

Doorstopper, despite having several old long-running Draftant series, wasn't named as such because of those novels, but because of an urban legend that the landmass of the large city split off from the one entrance that connected Protochara and the other world of the Draftant Creators. If the landmass of Doorstopper was ever reunited with the entrance, Protochara  would be sealed off from the world of Creators forever.

Why would I mention this? It mostly give significance to my childhood antics as a Saint. I consider the town's lore as part of my own personal lore. But now, maybe I should distance myself from it. Surely there's more to a Saint's existence than the entertainment I consumed, right?

As I stepped closer to the city line, I could see a couple of mountains to my left.  I wandered a few steps off the dirt path to take in the biggest sight visible from Doorstopper. The mountains themselves were a good sight, the grassy and rocky caps cloaked in fog in particular, but the best sight was ten clicks right of the large rockfaces. 

A squared silver metal gate with a rounded arch at the top stood only several stories shy of of the high-arching mountains. From any distance the tunnel inside of the gate created a funnel of light that was was bordered by the darkness around it. Some who witnessed the business done in the outskirts of Doorstopper claimed that the depth of the tunnel spanned the entirety of the city's length from the north to south border. 

My enjoyment of the spectacle at the end of my school commute was interrupted by two bickering voices. I turned to see two figures draped in silver and black cloaks, possessing the same intense glowing violet eyes with golden irises, and thick jet-black hair as a few characters that I encountered when I entered The Darkworld Tourist. I trailed them closer to listen to their ongoing conversation.

"Is that him, he looks rather old," a younger man with with shoulder length hair said.

"You idiot, its because he ages faster than us," the older man with slicked back hair said.

Old, what was that guy talking about? I quickly realized they weren't referring to me as I noticed another older figure ahead of both me and the cloaked characters, wearing a dark-violet sweater with a crimson interior inside the sleeves and hood. The silver haired man cradled a hardcover book with a diamond gem in the center. I couldn't make out the title, but I had a suspicion what it might've been. 

I tried to command my body to rush forward to stop them, but my feet felt like lead. A shiver also traveled through every vein in my body. Why did I choose now to be scared?

With my personal options limited, I opted for a simpler action.

"Old man, watch out," I bellowed from my stomach.

"Come on now, I'm not that old!"

The silver haired man with grey beard stubble opened the book cradled to his chest with a parting of his fingers in his left hand. Quickly scanning a sentence near the beginning of the book, he began reading a passage as if he were reciting a mantra. "Arcturus observed the two figures in military Darkworld cloaks. He extended his arm to block off his current host's path, feeling partially responsible for the circumstances she was in. It was only when he looked at his people through his own eyes under a brighter planet's light that he realized how ghastly and threatening his race could come across."

The incoming cloaked characters were repelled by an unseen force. The appeared to be locked in place where they stood, although they struggled to move the tips of their fingers and the muscles in their faces regardless. Meanwhile, I stood with my mouth agape. There was no question that these goons were from the Darkworld Tourist, but that old man was even more impressive.

"Oh, you're speechless," the silver-haired man said, gripping his chin. "I guess a lot of Saints tend to forget Creators are also mages."

Wait, Creator? I feel like such an idiot. I thought back to Erica's announcement about the Darkworld Tourist's Creator returning to Protochara and now everything made sense. Would it be a good idea to tell Erina that I saw Arturo the Creator in Doorstopper?

The elder of the two Darkworld soldiers broke free of their paralysis when the Creator Arturo changed his focus to me. With a swipe of his silver and black scarf he slashed through the fabric of reality ahead of him, leaving a pulsing blue gash the same color as Protochara's night sky. I didn't want a grunt of all people to get the the better of us, so I ran a short distance before I bent my knees and uppercut him using my body's natural leverage.

Arturo spun to meet the younger grunt that freed himself and kicked him backwards several meters. The silver-haired creator used the small window of disorientation to chant another passage from his story. "A thought occurred to Arcturus. He had no attachment to the Darkworld military, so he felt no reason to show fealty to them, and the idea of occupying another species' planet just to abandon it a century or two later no longer appealed to him. He wanted a permanent place to call home. He ran toward the soldiers with a silver and black scarf in one hand, and a stolen blade shifting gauntlet in the other. It was the easiest decision of his life."

The final passage that marked the end of the third chapter of the novel, at least as far as I remembered, was enough to not only stop both Draftant souls in their tracks, but seal them back inside the copy of the story Arturo held in his hand. The two characters' bodies transformed into a blue funneling spiral that channeled back into the story from where they came. 

With a flick of his wrist, the book snapped shut at its spine.

"Draftant Souls are tricky beings," Arturo said. He turned toward me with a cracked smile. "But Doorstopper would know plenty about troublesome Draftant souls wouldn't it young Saint?"

I felt a chill run down my spine. Does he know who I am?

"Let's sit down and take a break," he said pointing at the next bench less than ten meters away.

***

Even more then when I was talking to Lucy, I struggled to not mentally shut down when walking next to my favorite creator. I heavily resisted the urge to ask when the next Darkworld Tourist novel was going to be released.

The two of us sat in disturbingly perfect unison. Despite the stale air and dead noise, Arturo reached into his backpack and pulled out two water bottles, handing one of them to me.

"This is a nice world, but I'm used to more transportation," he said.

"So what brings one of the most popular Creators known in all of Doorstopper back to Protochara?"

"It may come as a surprise, but the people of Doorstopper brought me back here. Some of the most hospitable Saints I've met have been from Doorstopper. And it reminded me just how popular The Darkworld Tourist still is."

"If you publish a sequel, I know many people here who'd read it."

Maybe if I could convince him to publish a sequel, Erina's obsession with finishing it would fade. Perhaps it would finally calm me down too.

"Looking back, I'm honestly tempted," Arturo said, wistfully looking into an unknown horizon. "But in Protochara's current state, it would be irresponsible to publish a sequel. There's still Draftant Souls running around from the Doorstopper Incident."

I don't think he knows who was responsible for the incident. I thought about both my and Erina's current desires. This was my chance to redeem that foolish summer.

"I want to offer the services of the Patron Saint's Book Club."

"Patron Saint's Book Club? I don't think I should leave this responsibility to school children. I think I'll consult with the Protochara soldiers scouting the Imaginary Line, just south of Doorstopper."

I couldn't allow more authority figures to clean up my mess.

"We have experience with the Draftant Souls who attacked Doorstopper," I blurted out. "We know the Darkworld Tourist novel better than anyone!"

"I think I understand what's going on now," he said smiling. 

I couldn't tell if my dumb, desperate plan was working or not.

"You were one of the many victims of my story running amok. And you won't be able to rest until the destructive Draftant Souls are brought to justice by your own hands. Okay, I'm all ears."

"Yes, sir! But it's not your responsibility to deal with your creations."

"Oh, whose is it, then," he asked.

"The irresponsible reader that let them out in the first place."