The sunlight pierces the tons of rock and gives me, over the nerves that have been crushed, the grace to feel its warmth for the last time. Mild, she comforts the flesh that sheds blood and soothes the pain I almost no longer feel. The cold wind, in turn, fills the lungs that have not breathed for a long time and brings with it the pure smell of the forest. Behind the deafening clink, I can hear the song of birds.

  Brilliant, I feel the push behind my heart propel me upward. It's time to go. Memories show themselves as immediate affirmations, unable to be processed by the damaged body as more than they are.

  There is no feeling behind the visions: there is no way to hold all the perspectives at once, much less is there a purpose in feeling what has already been experienced. There's still no reason why I should look to the past if it no longer exists; nor does it matter what I feel as I carry out the mission I owe.

  The elder fairy invades the village and is defeated. The boy fights for his life and that of his neighbors until he is able to repeat the feat against another enemy. Still, weak, sacrifices himself to ensure that his house has security. Zherdos, Cloud. Those who will take care of her in my absence are trustworthy men—people more prepared and intelligent than I have ever been.

  There is no attachment, because there is no point in having it; but also because there is nothing to have. There is no family that holds me, or home, or origin or competence.

  I am the only one who extends to the limit of my being. My decision is the only thing that defines me beyond me. And if she's the only one that matters, then I pray to heaven that it's been enough, for that's all I am.

  Without magic, there's no stopping the Reaper. The steel of his sickle touches my neck, his hands reach for the heavens as he promises to be quick. The cold wind is driven out one last time, the warmth of the sun becomes the chill of the flesh, and the song of the birds is silenced. So I accept death willingly.

  He drops his gun, fast and accurate;

  But the attack never comes.

  Time passes. My body moves, carried from side to side. Darkness surrounds me. Hours. Days. My senses mingle, multiple stimuli make my head spin as I feel warm and have chills, I hear the cacophony of pots and pans and the synchrony of humming, life and death pulling my arms in opposite directions.

  There is nothing that binds me to reality. There's nothing that still needs my help. The darkness whispers in my ears and tells me to give up—to let myself be submerged by the waters that lead me to the underworld. Something even deeper, however, whispers in a cry that comes from the bottom of my heart.

  Hero.

  My eyes open.

  A scream explodes from my throat, so heavy it makes it burn. Instinct makes me struggle for air and ignores the pain of dryness and the sudden expansion of my lungs. Colors, smells, noises. All at once, in different tones and modes, as if my body had forgotten how to filter the information.

  Sieghart told me something about it.

  The shock of the resurrection.

  The cold of sweat contrasts with the warmth of the skin. My muscles hurt, some swollen and some torn. My chest is heavy, fatigued. The taste of iron contaminates my tongue and the smell of sour medicine in my nostrils, along with fresh air and tea.

  My arm.

  Where's my arm?

  I turn my neck, despite the burning in the joints. A horrible scar spreads across the rest of my arm, and everything up to my elbow is gone. Memories return, one by one. The Guardian of Vanusia was defeated and the population of Fliori was saved. Along with her, Lugnir shattered into a thousand pieces, and my arm went with her.

  I breathe in and out. I don't let my mind despair. Above me, a wooden ceiling, ornamented with geometric symbols that seemed blurred. Simultaneously static and moving, the best comparison I can think of is that with a dream.

  Noise. So much noise. He's coming from my left. When I turn to see what makes so much noise, I widen my eyes.

  He is small, a maximum of six feet, but not plump or muscular like a dwarf. His face is not that of a human. If you look more like a mouse than a man, and if your skin wasn't beige like one, I'd mistake you for such an ugly troll. The creature is old, its nose looks like a potato, and its entire face is wrinkled, with thick eyebrows, pointed ears and a grumpy appearance.

  To complete the weirdness, the bastard still hasn't stopped banging the wooden pots in my ear.

  “S -” I cough. “Stop.”

  “Good Morning, Princess.” He says, banging the pots one more time and making me consider swapping the hero's path for the Assassin's. “I hope you will pay me for the hospitality.”

  The creature hands the pots to another even smaller one, which reaches up to its belly and has a friendly, animated face. The little one also looks like a mouse, but cute, with pink cheeks and pointed appearance as if it were a drawing made by a child. He takes the pots away and joins dozens of others of his own, communicating through unrecognizable jumps and grunts before they return to their tasks.

  “They were curious.” The old man says in a loud, high-pitched voice. “They love the pots.”

  “… Where I am…?”

  “In wonderland, apparently.”

  “… What -”

  “You fell down the rabbit hole. Lost in the woods. Ate a hallucinogenic mushroom. Or died. No matter how they get here, one or the other dumbass always appears.”

  “… Huh…?”

  “Huh?” He mocks me as he whispers complaints and walks to an oven he uses to heat a clay bowl. Her clothes are oddly colored, even by Dufae's standard. Brilliant.

  He wears what appears to be light leather armor over a wide, red Sorcerer's cloak; above his head, a blue, pointed cap larger than his head. The entire garment is adorned with golden pieces that contrast with the Green of the surrounding foliage, although it is not known if it is genuine gold or a replica.

  The creature takes the clay bowl and comes back to me with a wooden spoon that it uses to dip into the green liquid. He places her above a bench next to the bed and crosses his arms.

  “… What is it…?”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Medicine. You want me to give to you in your mouth, too?”

  I hesitate for a moment. But if this weirdo wanted me dead, he'd have killed me already. With difficulty, I lean over the head of the bed and place the bowl on my lap, then eat some green soup. It's horrible. I cough and grab my throat, forcing myself not to vomit.

  “Who are you?”

  “An illustrious presence! A nimble GNOME! An earth fairy! It's not my pleasure, but I'm Bombardelli!!”

  “…”

  I'm dead, aren't I?

  No. Reality would not be so merciful to me. I'm alive. Painfully alive.

  “Did you save me?”

  “Are you dead by chance?”

  “What happened…?”

  “Is your ear clogged, boy?”

  “How did you find me?”

  “You…” He goes to a small wooden table and takes out a pipe to smoke. “You were dying. Crushed by stones. But I felt a small, glowing aura, so in my enormous mercy, I took you out and asked my little shits to take care of you.”

  “Under one…?”

  The glow. The strange features. The strange feeling of unreality that runs through my stomach, as if my body tells me that I am in a place that should not exist, as if my brain refuses to comprehend what is in front of me. Lucidity within a dream, the experience of physical reverie.

  For the second time, I widen my eyes.

  “I'm in the fairy world…”

  “Obviously.”

  “How do I return?”

  “If you find some natural crossing, fifty years from now, you can come back. Or if you figure out how to do it yourself, which will never happen.” He crosses his arms. “But, if you're interested, I'm going to the world of men and I need a mining stump. Especially one in debt.”

  “A stump what? No, how soon do you plan to get there?”

  “A few years.”

  “Years?!”

  “Awn, I feel so sorry that your lazy ass is going to be away from home for a few years. How sad!” It spits into the earth around a plant. “Lucky shaggy, you should thank me for sticking with this dumb idea, cleaning my shoes for saving you and paying me a woman for… because!”

  “… You've met Ent, haven't you? Were you going there because of him? What are you going to do in the world of men?”

  “You know, it's pretty funny you should ask me that.” He smokes the pipe. “Because I never said I'd tell you what's none of your business. In fact, I'm the one who asks: Who the hell are you?”

  “… My name is Elron.”

  “And?”

  Ainsworth. Son of Arlong Ainsworth II, Chief of the village of Dufae.

  “Nothing more. Just Elron.”

  “Then Elron Apneb. All right, what are you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Oh, how wonderful! There must be shit in my pipe for me to go insane and start seeing ghosts around. How are you nothing if I'm seeing you, assface?”

  “I fulfilled my mission. There's nothing else for me.”

  “Ah, yes, because humans are famous for finishing a task and scratching their ass for the rest of their short days on Earth. I wish. Hyperactive pests like you don't go a season without a change in mood.”

  I spit out a laugh. “Are we the hyperactive ones? Have you ever looked in a mirror?”

  “I'm not your friend, shithead, be careful. No, you just must have banged your head, or you're dumb and don't remember titles.”

  The gnome pauses for a second, then goes to a desk and from a drawer pulls Lugnir. Though dirty, his hilt is whole, but the pristine light that gleamed in sapphire is gone with the rest of his blade.

  “You were holding it.” The gnome leaves the broken sword in my bed. “Forged by magic and metal. I hate the last part. Iron always interacts poorly with fairy magic. But I have to admit, it's pretty.”

  I grab the cable. To see the matte blue metal that once shone so brightly is strange. Lugnir was never heavy, but now it seems to sink my hand with its lightness.

  I breathe in. I intensify to endure the pain and finish the regeneration, then feel my mana drain away as its flow passes through the wounds and closes them, internal scars form and then disappear. Countless.

  I get up and take a deep breath. I stagger around the house looking for a way out. Junk and uselessness block my way through the miniature structure. I need to lower myself, and my stomach burns every time I do. I can still feel the hole left by some spikes.

  The gnome screams, but I've gotten used to noisy old men enough to ignore him. I force myself out of the house, and my eyes hurt as soon as I step outside. Emerald-green grass and trees larger than houses stretch across the environment, fields mingle with forests in a climate that was both extreme and simultaneously perfect.

  Cold wind, hot sun, balance and distortion, it took my senses a while before they could operate normally.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “I need a stone. The biggest one you can find. Please.”

  Our eyes meet. He nods, swallowing the complaints for later, then wanders his gaze over the terrain he knows.

  In silence, the gnome searches the area and pulls me with him until he finds a large stone, large as my body, set apart from others, surrounded by bushes. It is illuminated with a few golden rays that pass through the canopies.

  The creature crosses its arms, but no longer approaches. “Be brief.” He says.

  I nod in gratitude and approach the stone. My fingers touch the gray, I feel the rough texture against the skin.

  “You said your mission is over. What was It?” He says.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I want to know who will be next to me. There are people who depend on me around here.”

  “… My mission was with Dufae. Protect her, organize her like the boss who came before me. He said great men only die when their deeds are forgotten. This is not my case, but his. I cannot live by his legacy as a failure that cannot protect nothing. I have not continued your task, I am not what I am supposed to be, and I am not sure that I ever was.”

  “You have to stop being incompetent. Great. A good pick in your hands and a whip on the back should get you better real quick.”

  Quiet. The gnome expires. “Fate will not fall from the skies, brat. Discovering it is also part of your mission. Do what you want, but woe to you if you do not do what you must, for your actions will have consequences and your mistakes will lead to suffering.”

  He continues. “I've seen men go from nothing to everything, but this is not your case, or you would be reeking of piss and rum. For then, I will give you two short options: Either you cut off your belly and die with your guts out right here, or you create a modicum of respect for the divine and do something with the life that was saved for you.”

  Life saved.

  “Wasn't it luck?”

  Lucky I wasn't buried by the full weight of the mound. Luckily, the magic kept me stable until the gnome arrived. So many coincidences.

  “Luck.” He spits out a laugh. “You men have lost your reason.”

  No. It's not just that. Talented and skilled, but deadly. I'm not supernaturally powerful. I am not a genius, nor the most prepared. I clench my fists, letting the memories that once weighed heavily on my mind melt away like water.

  I can say that I should go back to my world, to try to get away from the ill-mannered gnome. But I have no desire to lie, no need. There is nowhere to go, and Cloud is already taking care of the rest for me. Zherdos won't have to worry, Arlong can rest.

  I feel the power envelop the sword, it shines in response, still weak. Stooping down, I thrust my sword against the stone.

  My hand still holds the Lugnir handle, but I finally let it go.

  “What did you say you needed?”

  “A miner.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I am extremely busy and require others to do my work for me. With a high risk of life, but also generous payment. Well, it was more shameful before, in Grendel's time…”

  “Grendel? Who is this…?”

  “Shuuss!” The gnome says. “Don't speak his name!”

  “But didn't you say it first?”

  “Shut up! I worked in the mountains of Vergas until… Hm… Well, something bad happened. That's all you need to know. Anyway, my fighting days are over, so I'm stepping up!”

  “And yet you were was heading towards the Ent.”

  “The problem is mine! I never said I was going to fight!”

  “Neither do I. Were you?”

  The gnome frowns. “Listen here-”

  “I was a warrior in my world. I can be your soldier.”

  “Soldier? Soldier?! Being stump?!”

  “Yes, I can't regenerate a whole limb. I don't know enough medicine to do that. To be honest, I only glued the insides and hoped that a healer would save me in the end. When the damage accumulated, I could no longer fight as I should.” I nod to myself.

  “But you saved me, so you must know.” I continued. “I can learn. Get my arm back and fight. Until then, one arm will be enough for me.”

  The gnome complains. I try to say that I can be useful in combat, and he tells me that I will have to talk to the tomato knight. I don't care enough to listen him, there is nothing more to be said.

  Turning our backs on the sword, we leave.

  He does not wait until he tells of his adventures and preparations in the mine, and of the evil that plagues the place. He speaks as if he makes the same speech every time he meets a new person. He tells me that he found a pair of elves and saved them, named a religious place and that he left there. When I asked why, he told me to shut up.

  Left behind, the blade falls asleep on the stone in the fairy world, dreaming of the day when its master will return. But his name is no longer Lugnir, and his old master is no more.

  Then the sword assumes the mantle of its true name, reforged upon the blood of the consummate sacrifice, bathed in the divinity of destiny; and promises that it will reveal it only when he who wields it knows why he does it, when he uses his Reforged will to do the same with his shards.

  On this day, I also made a promise: that one day, I would return to her.