The return journey from Mossley was so quiet that Amelia thought her ears were damaged, and as she sat next to Cleo in the carriage, she stared out the window at rolling fields of tall grass that swayed in the wind. There were scattered patches of trees and isolated cottages with trails of smoke rising up from the chimneys. The wheels rumbled below the carriage and the horse nickered on occasion, but no matter how much she wanted to speak, she just didn’t know how. What was there to say? What could she say? Would her friends even believe her if she told them about the memories? If she talked about the orphans or the illness, how would they react? She couldn’t find the find words and probably never would.
Her sister committed wretched sins in her name, eradicated an entire orphanage of children. There were so many screams and raspy cries burned in her memory. If it were possible, Amelia would will them away, but every time she closed her eyes, those days came back to her like a repeating nightmare.
Now she had new monsters to face.
Unfortunately, every one of them was inside her head.
For the full six hours, she said nothing—not a single word—to her friends. They occasionally talked to one another, and she caught Misumi’s eyes on more than one occasion, but that was all the communication they had. Nothing more.
When they passed through the gates of Duncaster, she spied the people outside, and watched them barter at the stalls, unload supplies from carts, chat with one another by the alleys, and bustle up and down the street. There was so much life in that city, yet all she could think about was death. It nipped at her like bats swooping from the ceiling of a cave. And when at last they returned to the guild, she carried her supplies from the carriage and entered through the rear entrance, which was connected to a courtyard shared with other buildings.
Flanigan greeted her as she passed through the tavern, but she headed upstairs to her bedroom, shamefully leaving her friends to do all the talking.
“Sorry…” she whispered to herself.
Upon reaching her bedroom, Amelia tossed her things aside and shut the door, holding the doorknob and leaning in to press her head against the wood. She took deep breaths.
In and out.
In and out.
The air in her lungs didn’t want to flow without sputtering.
Her lips couldn’t speak without quivering.
Her limbs wouldn’t move with trembling.
Sleep; all she wanted was to sleep. But if she climbed into bed and succumbed to slumber, wouldn’t the nightmares return? Most likely. And in that way, even the veil of sleep would not protect her from the memories.
The next few days carried on as normal for everyone else, and while Amelia did not barricade herself in her room, she certainly didn’t speak often. She refused to let her friends go on jobs without her, and when they faced undead, she always gave her best. But in the faces of the walking dead, in the eyes of beasts from the grave, all she could see were the faces of helpless children who didn’t deserve the vile treatment and inevitable deaths they received. When ghouls called from the black hallways of the Spire, she heard them as screams from the orphans that suffered so greatly because of her. When a goblin’s blood was spilt, she saw only the stained floors of an underground dungeon, where drag marks formed a trail through doorways and shadowy halls.
Her friends noticed, of course, but wouldn’t say anything, and it wasn’t until they entered a district of the Spire—Eolana—that her fears and sorrow climaxed.
That district was one of dark stone and fire, lava pools and beasts made of magma. Without a Warlock or Warrior in their party, they were forced to avoid most encounters and fight creatures like the red goblins, whose skin appeared similar in shade to copper. They were incredibly strong and could use basic combat magic. But when Amelia and her friends had taken refuge in a majestic but ruined fortress of the damned, with its sharp edges and intimidating masonry, she found her mind adrift on the sea of old memories once again, an isolated ship in harsh waters. The waves too high, the sky too dark.
There were alabaster statues lining the fortress’ main hall, many of which took on artistic stances like philosophers crying out to their gods or lonely hermits kneeling in earnest prayer. Why they stood there and who built them was a mystery, but Amelia related to each of them, her soul howling with more fervor than every statue combined. Could the past be changed? Could she go back and convince her sister to stop? Would the pain end? Could she save just one of those poor children and give them a better life? No. All of that was impossible. And because of that, the sculptures around her were not just stone effigies to people long since forgotten, but were manifestations of the agony welling up inside her as it came to a boil.
In the center of that chamber, she paused as her friends meandered about, and a lone tear snuck away from her left eye.
“I…I cannot do this,” she stammered out, trailing her gaze over the statues.
The others turned around and noticed how she had fallen behind.
“What do you mean?” Kenji asked. “You can’t do what?”
And before the words could blurt themselves out, Amelia began to shudder, to crumble inside, to break. The marble of her eyes turned pink and the beat of her heart felt clogged, like every second she lived was borrowed from someone else. She didn’t deserve what those children never got. She didn’t deserve to be an Adventurer. To have friends. To be alive. The disease was supposed to kill her, and yet she survived due to the stolen lives of innocent kids.
Naturally, her friends sensed the breakdown before it happened, and they rushed to her aid again, except this time as Amelia’s vision blurred with tears, she reached for the nearest person to her—Cleo. Wrapping both arms tightly around her, Amelia began to cry and spill everything she remembered; meanwhile, Cleo awkwardly stood red, stammering and having no idea what to do or say. The memories spoke for themselves, coming out one by one.
There was the illness she had since birth, one that caused seizures, sleepwalking, hallucinations, and delusions of grandeur. She remembered being catatonic for more than two days at one point, just laying there stiff as a board, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Then she told them about her sister’s experiments, how the orphans were turned into Adventurers against their will, how their blood was fused with various chemicals, then siphoned out and turned into mixtures, only to be forced inside of Amelia through needles shortly thereafter. She spoke of the furnace. The rancid stench that rolled in on the warm draft. The ashes she was forced to eat by one of her guards. There were so many things to be ashamed of that even if she confessed for hours, it wouldn’t be enough time to describe it all.
But there it was, all laid out.
She was alive because other people had to die.
She was a level 100 because of their ashes.
How would her friends judge that? What would they say or think? Had she not been kept alive by her sister’s experiments, she would have succumbed to madness and eventually turned catatonic permanently, dying in the end.
But when everything was out in the open, when she had revealed her entire life prior to joining the guild, her friends didn’t say a word—not at first. Instead, they listened to her cry. They stayed near. Their eyes were not bitter, nor were they darkened with ire. And it was Kenji who finally had something to say, making certain Amelia could hear despite her sobbing.
“Amelia,” he stated. “The shit you’ve been through is disgusting. It’s vile. But you know what? Not for one second do I believe it was your fault. You had a disease and now you don’t—and yeah, that’s because your sister took something from the children and put it in you. But that was her doing. Her decision. She murdered those kids.” He seethed inside, all but frothing at the mouth with rage. “And I promise you—I swear to you—we’ll make sure your sister doesn’t carry out experiments like that ever again. The crap she’s done is gonna come back to haunt her. Cross my heart and hope to die—she’ll pay, and she’ll pay a thousand times over.”
Amelia didn’t know what to say or do—all she knew was that her sister was still out there, planning more work with the level 100 experiments. She’d make other people suffer just like she had, like the children had, and not once would it cross her mind that the experiments were cruel, that they were disgustingly vile. Allister was just that way. She didn’t acknowledge evil for what it was, and instead chose to shake hands with it and smile.
“But she is in the wind,” Amelia sniveled, letting go of Cleo. “And we are not strong enough to stop her. She has an entire guild at her side.”
“And so do we,” Misumi answered. “It may not be the strongest guild in Duncaster, but the people in it have heart. They’ll help us track down your sister.”
Cleo and Kenji agreed with that, reassuring Amelia with assertions of their own.
“And…” continued Misumi. “…you have us. We’ll never let you down, because we’re friends and that’s what friends do.”
Despite already knowing those words to be true, it was refreshing to hear, and it put a splash of sunlight in Amelia’s crying soul. The members of her guild were good, kind people. They were friends no matter the cost. And even in the face of such madness, they stayed beside her and would never leave. That meant the world to her.
As they lingered in the fortress, Amelia eventually ceased her crying and felt a glimmer of hope now that her friends knew how the past tortured her. She felt a light at the end of the tunnel. And before long, their party decided that enough was enough, and they determined to leave Eolana and head back to the guild for an evening in the tavern. Finally, a chance to unwind. To regain a sense of normalcy in her life—that’s what she needed. And perhaps, if she was lucky, a peaceful night’s rest would follow, though she wouldn’t get her hopes up. In truth, she would not have a surplus of breathing room until Allister was captured and her deadly antics were put to an end.
******
Pancakes.
Kenji insisted that the cure to Amelia’s sorrow lied in a stack of those flat and delicious morsels which he strangely titled ‘Tasty Mofos’, and it was not only she who observed him whilst cooking the rounded lumps of batter, but also Linette, Flanigan, Desmond’s party, as well as Misumi and Cleo, who all stared in wonder at the pan.
One spoonful of batter, one pancake.
Cook for fifteen seconds and flip.
It was that simple.
They were all gathered in the cellar that morning, and Kenji insisted they try one of earth’s grandest delicacies—the common flapjack—because of its innate ability to cure woes. It could still the heart and ease stress, according to him. He wore an apron, and tossed the pancakes in the air, catching them with utter precision in the pan. This skill, he claimed, was attributed to years of making breakfast at home, and he asserted that the sap of maple trees mixed with sugar and honey were needed for each stack; fortunately, Sinopa used her blazing speed retrieve some earlier that morning, and when the time came, he poured spoonfuls of the syrup over the patties of cooked batter and handed the first plate to Amelia.
Five pancakes high. The sweet smell of decadent syrup as it drenched the plate. A square of butter in the center. Amelia could hardly stop her mouth from watering as everyone watched in awe; meanwhile, Kenji continued preparing the next plate…and the next.
“Are ya gonna stuff your face or what?” Sinopa drooled. “Hurry it up, Missy. I’m starvin’, and I ain’t got time to waste just lookin’ at the food.” She was handed the second plate, but forced herself to wait until Amelia took the first bite.
“Yeah,” Flanigan said, arms crossed. “I’m eager to hear about these. Kenji makes it seem like ‘flapjacks’ are all the rage.”
“Because they are!” Kenji insisted while tossing another pancake in the air.
If being honest, she didn’t know what to make of the plate before her. It most certainly looked and smelled delicious. But it was unfamiliar, it was of a different realm and time, it was magnificent in many ways and underwhelming in others. Could a pancake really make her feel better? Would it help to ease her sorrow?
Passing a glance over everyone present, who stared back at her with anticipation, Amelia set the plate down on a nearby table, grabbed a fork and knife, and cut off her first bite. A moment later, she shoved the five-layered mouthful of pancakes into her mouth and chewed; when she gulped it down, everyone was dead silent.
“Well?” asked Sinopa with worried eyes and both ears flat against her head. “How is it?”
It was a blank gaze on Amelia’s face as she absorbed all she had just eaten, all she had tasted. Then, without her knowing, a grin formed on her lips that wormed into a full-on smile, and she nodded with excitement.
“They are delightful!” she squeaked. “Perfectly splendid!”
As Amelia began cutting away another bite, Sinopa didn’t hesitate to dig in, and like a hungry carnivore that hadn’t eaten in a week, the vixen began shoving bite after bite into her mouth, never losing steam. Soon enough, everyone present received a full plate of pancakes, and all of them were mesmerized by the sheer deliciousness that had been brought into their world. And despite her prior skepticism, Amelia found truth in Kenji’s words. Indeed, the pancakes eased her sorrow for that brief time, though perhaps it was the fact that all her friends were gathered around in one place that made her happy, because she realized just how near help was when she needed it.
There would always be a shoulder to lean on. A smile to meet her at the door. A caring set of hands to pick her up when she couldn’t stand on her own. That’s just the way life was in a guild, and Amelia was happier than ever to be a part of it, even if her sister was still out there somewhere wreaking havoc. One day, they’d locate her. And when they did, they’d make sure she never tortured anyone again.
