Times New Roman

Times New Roman 3 - Noticing The Cracks​

-January 2002-

-Archen​

I deftly take a diagonal step backward and cleanly dodge the lunge aimed at my torso. Holding my spear with one arm, I grab hers with my dominant hand and try to pull her toward me. Gray instantly changes her grip and swipes her weapon against my thumb, forcing me to let go.

"So if I'm hearing you correctly, you decided that the best possible way to introduce yourself to my friends was by 'bullying' one of them and then making fun of me to them. Is that a fair summary of the events?" Gray asks, her voice as dry as a midsummer desert.

I use the moment of respite she gives me to reposition myself. I take a firm stance, already expecting what kind of response my answer will bring.

"Ye-P." You have to pop the 'p' for added insult to injury.

As expected, she wields her spear like a staff and goes for an overhead strike toward my helmet, intending to silence my voice. But you can't silence the truth.

I copy her change in tactics and hold my spear in the middle like a bõ staff, swiping it in a strong upward diagonal to parry her random acts of aggression. Before I can take advantage of the opening, she agilely dashes back to her starting point.

"This humiliation wasn't enough for you either. You, in what you yourself described as a 'flash of divine inspiration,' decided that to get back at me for siccing you on them, they should tell you 'embarrassing stories.' Yes?" Her voice slowly rises in pitch, ascending into a shriek.

With how hysterical she's acting, I can only assume she doesn't want to win by a point victory. She'll keep raining violence upon my frail body. I need to maintain a balanced stance, dodging and parrying her next few strikes. After that, I might have a chance to eke out a victory.

"It seemed like a funny idea," I respond happily. "Your friends seemed to agree with me, though," I add helpfully.

"Traitors, the both of them," she hisses.

She dashes forward into my range and starts with a quick upward strike toward my chin, which I block easily. She follows up by using the momentum from my block to spin the other side of her spear-staff toward my head from above. I manage to dodge sideways, but as I move, I feel her shift the trajectory of her spear toward my neck. I hastily block with my own weapon. Again, she uses the force of my block to fluidly strike at my unprotected side. I drop into a crouch with the grace of a cheetah, and the final part of her combo sails harmlessly over my helmet.

Strike now. Strike hard.

This is the moment I've been waiting for. As I adjust my grip to a downward position, ready to stab her in the torso, she keeps spinning with the momentum of her missed strike. Landing solidly on both feet, she reverses her grip and slams her weapon against my helmet with a devastating blow.

Unable to react in time, I go down like a sack of potatoes. If not for the wrapped ends of our practice weapons, I would probably be seeing stars.

The hit forces me onto my back. Beaten but unbroken, I wonder if goading her was worth the pain.

She removes her protective cover, better revealing just how much she looks down on me. I can still see the embarrassment on her face, which makes the entire debacle worth it.

It is now my life's mission to get her to make more faces like that.

"Have you learned your lesson yet, or do you need a few more beatings to engrave the message into your head?" she asks indignantly.

"Well, their stories about the time they took you to the biggest haunted house in London were pretty funn..." I valiantly continue my onslaught. She should know that in modern times, the pen is mightier than the sword.

She moves like a gale and looms over me, hands menacingly poised. "Are you certain this is the path you wish to take? I won't be merciful," she threatens, making choking motions with her hands.

Discretion is the better part of valor.

I can poke her again once she's had some time to seethe in peace.

"I give, I give. Thou art victorious. Do with me what you wish, but leave the computer alone, it is entirely innocent," I plead honorably.

"Hmph. It's good you know when to quit. You should remember who gave you the information that got you that computer in the first place," she says, pointing at my face. "That's one hundred nine to zero, by the way."

"I've got to go now. I'll be learning more about my illustrious history." She sighs, walking toward the exit. Just before leaving, she pauses and turns to me. "Meri and Fay are visiting next week. We won't be required to join our families. Want to come to our get-together?" she asks plainly.

I immediately answer, "I would love to join you and your friends."

My quick response startles her slightly, but I catch the ghost of a smile on her face.

"They'll be here on Saturday. I don't know the exact time, but I'll come get you then," she says, sounding more animated. "Don't forget!"

I sit up and wave as she leaves, happy that we'll be doing more than just fighting together. It's also a great opportunity to get even more dirt on her from Fay.

Once she's gone, I fall back onto my back.

"Haah... sigh..."

One hundred nine to zero, huh? Maybe I should look into fighting with a spear and shield. In these more intense sparring sessions, I've noticed I prefer blocking and parrying rather than dodging everything like she does.

Well, time to take a run around town.

Half an hour laterThe rhythmic beat of my feet on the road, the sound of gravel shifting on rough pavement, and the steady thumping of my heartbeat.

Running after a loss helps calm my competitive side. The clarity that follows the shame of defeat gives me insight into how to adapt my fighting style and improve my stances. So engrossed in my visualization, I don't realize I've taken the path toward the cemetery.

After about fifteen minutes, I finally notice I'm going the wrong way. The roads look unfamiliar, and the number of people thins the closer I get to the cemetery. Fair enough—I wouldn't want to be near one either.

By now, I've been running for about an hour. My body is hot, I'm sweating despite the near freezing temperature. As I approach the boundary where the new roads meet the old ones, I feel a chill. An unnatural coldness permeates the air, growing heavier the closer I get to the border.

Just as I prepare to step over the dividing line—my chosen spot to turn back—I notice the shadows. Lights flickering in haunting ways. My shock is so deep that time seems to slow, almost coming to a standstill. In a moment of pure clarity, sharper than anything I've ever experienced, I see every monstrous shadow and ghostly apparition in my field of vision. All of them watching and waiting, hoping that I cross into their domain.

In that single stretched-out second, I force my entire body to turn before crossing the final boundary, and I sedately run back.

I can feel something watching me from behind. I don't look back. I don't speed up. I just keep running, my heart thundering in my ears. My body screams at me to run as fast as I can, but a cold instinct warns me I am not out of danger yet. That it is looking whether I saw them or that I just turned around in the nick of time.

Only when I reach the town does the feeling begin to fade. More people should mean safety, right? No dice. I've got a feeling that if it believes I saw something I shouldn't have, it wouldn't matter how many people are around—I wouldn't be able to escape.

When I finally arrive at the mansion, I feel it—the lightening of the air, the lessening of that indescribable force. I greet the staff and walk to my room as I have done a hundred times before.

Near the chapel, the feeling completely vanishes, and the adrenaline starts to drain from my body.

I exhale slowly, realizing I've been holding my breath since stepping inside. Without showing any sign of panic, I enter my room. No time to take off my clothes or shower. I stumble to my bed and collapse.

Tomorrow will be better.

-June 2002-

I lean against the entrance wall, waiting outside on the sunniest day of the year so far. Someone from the police is planning to ask me a few questions about my stint on the beach.

While waiting, I let my mind wander, and as usual, it goes to my most recent big experience.

It has been a few months since my fear of cemeteries was ignited. I have managed to shake it off, but it was a harsh wake-up call. I have been aware that magic and powers existed since coming here, but I wasn't truly aware.

That encounter fundamentally changed my reasons for training. Coming from a fairly peaceful world, I thought I understood what it would mean to arrive in a place where dangers could lurk everywhere. Theoretical knowledge doesn't mean anything.

I have switched my staff-spear for a shield and one-handed spear combo, while also changing my training from that of a fast and precise fighter to one focused on endurance and explosiveness.

At the club, one of the teachers is proficient in round shield combat. After discussing my desire to change my fighting style with both coaches, they arranged extra tutoring for me to learn how to handle shield fighting.

With my new fighting style and the ability to stretch a moment into more, I have gained a great edge while sparring. Thanks to my shield and my ability to briefly analyze the target of Gray's hits, I have been able to block more and more of her attacks successfully.

This did not close the gap as I had expected. She started changing the trajectory of her strikes mid-swing. Even if I could see it happening, I was not fast enough to react to the change.

I call bullshit.

She is cheating harder than I am.

As I think of new ways to cheat in a fight, the gate opens and a black sedan drives through. Out steps a familiar face, still wearing a trench coat and fedora. It is Inspector Brown.

I walk up to him and give him a firm handshake while saying, "How do you do, Inspector?" Just as my etiquette teacher would have wanted.

"How do you do?" he responds warmly. I can see him stifling a laugh at my forced manners.

As we walk toward one of the staff rooms, he asks me how I have been and how my time here has been, generally showing interest in how I have bounced back from a tragic incident.

As I sit at a table, he checks in with the matron, giving a final explanation of why he is here and what he hopes to achieve.

When they both return from her office, he explains that they have found a lot of information regarding similar incidents to mine. They hope that by asking me a few questions related to the case, they might help me remember something.

How do I respond to this? The police are looking at this with the expectation of child traffickers. I can't just come out and say, 'I was kidnapped from my old world.' Sorry, we're not the same type of victims. On the other hand, I have already shown some form of returning memories through my passion for martial arts.

Sorry, Inspector Brown. I don't want to be strapped to a table and experimented on. I will just go with my gut reaction to whatever they ask.

Inspector Brown sits across from me while the matron sits beside me. She immediately addresses me. "If it gets to be too much at any time, know that you can take a break."

She makes it really hard to stay suspicious of her.

"If we go back to that night, is there anything you remember or wish to say before we start the questions?" he asks steadily.

"All I remember is the cold and having to cough out a lot of salty water. I remember seeing a flash as I fell through... stone and marble arches? I think that's what they were called. After that, it was all just hot and cold until I was on the beach," I muse slowly.

"Stone and marble..." He writes that down.

Oh, shit. Did I just give a false testimony? No, I did see and feel those things, but are they even remotely related to whatever he is investigating?

"Do any of these names mean anything to you?" He starts listing off a whole series of random names. I shake my head at most of them without hesitation. It must have been at least twenty names until he says,

"Does Tosca ring any bells?"

Unwittingly, I flinch at that name, whereas the others had no effect on me.

The Inspector looks at the matron, and they exchange some sort of silent conversation with their eyes.

He asks me again softly, "Did Tosca make you remember anything?"

"I... I know the name. I knew the other names as just names, but I have heard this one before. Not sure how to explain it," I admit.

Yes, that amnesia diagnosis is feeling more and more real.

"Next name," he continues. "What about Isaiah?"

Same reaction.

Fuck. What is going on?

He starts writing really fast in his notebook. I glance at the matron. She has a pensive look on her face, but when she notices me looking, she just smiles encouragingly.

The Inspector finishes writing. "Next, we have some country names. If you have a reaction to any of them, that is already enough."

I react to Norway and Italy. I am uncertain why I reacted to Norway, as I have never been there, but Italy was my last connection to my old life.

This makes him write at an incredible pace once more.

The next fifteen minutes of questions go by without a hitch. None of them trigger any weird reactions. That is great, because these involuntary spasms are making my brain itch.

As the questions become more and more inane, the matron decides that is enough on my behalf and starts shooing the Inspector away.

As we walk the Inspector to his car, he is noticeably deep in thought. As we approach, he turns to me and says, "Last question. Just give me an instant one-word reply to the next word I say." His tone is extremely serious.

I gulp. Did he notice something off about me? Am I in trouble?

"Church," he says sharply.

"Shady," I respond instantly.

Wow.

He takes a deep breath and sighs. Wearily, he looks up and says, "That's all I had to ask. Thanks for all the help." He ruffles my hair.

He steps into his car and drives off, leaving me with more questions and some extremely bad premonitions.

June 2002"Many happy returns, this lowly one wishes you the best of birthdays, my lady." I can't help but snark as I see Gray.

"Please accept this offering I bring you and accept it in your heart to forgive my tardiness, my lady."

I hand her some manga, Done Deal, Investigator Canon. It's a knockoff series I found in a bookstore in London. Maybe in the future, she'll read the original and find out I gave her the fake one. Her reaction will be glorious.

She just looks at me, completely done with my nonsense.

"What is the occasion? What have I done to inspire this today?" She sighs while opening the package of books.

I shrug. "Your butler's crazy."

She pauses noticeably, putting the package aside and focusing her full attention on me.

"What?"

"What?" I parrot.

"As in, what did he do that makes you think he's crazy?"

"He walked into my room and told me I was expected at the manor in one hour. Then he told me to wash up. While I was doing that, he cleaned my room, took one look at my clothes, and said I couldn't show myself in public wearing them." I take a deep breath and continue airing my grievances.

"He tells me to get dressed because we had to find 'presentable' clothes and 'real' shoes."

I don't even know what to say about this. Are all noble servants this pushy toward commoners, or am I on some kind of blacklist?

"Look at me. I'm wearing a three-piece suit. I'll outgrow it in six months tops, and it's sweltering outside. Do you know how hot and bothersome a suit is?"

She smirks. "Is that all?"

That boggles my mind. "What do you mean, is that all? What else could that blasted butler have done to inconvenience me?"

"There, there, it's all good. Not everyone is equipped to carry this type of burden."

I look to Meredith for backup. "Can you believe her? Please tell her off for me, my lady."

Meredith looks at me with a vague expression and says, "You don't know? I'm not from a noble family either. My family worked for them, and since their death, I've become a ward of the Golden Dawn company."

I try to high-five her for Team Orphans, but Gray slaps my arm down with impunity.

She looks at me and says quietly, "She's not as blasé about it as you are."

Ah, gotcha. No orphan jokes around the real deal. Wait, aren't I a real orphan as well at this point?

Gray returns to opening the package and checks out the books I gave her, thankfully saving me from stepping on a landmine. She looks up at me and asks, "Are these comic books you're giving me?"

Heh. Yes, please. If we ever meet manga fans in the future, call them comics.

"Yeah, they're famous and well-acclaimed Japanese comics. I found one about a detective that's been translated, and I thought you might be interested."

"Thank you for the recommendation. I'll read them one of these days." She doesn't sound too excited.

She goes off to meet some other youths, while I accompany Fay. As in, I carry her plate while she embarks on a crusade to taste every sweet in sight.

She's much more relaxed in this setting, showing she's used to this kind of spectacle. She deftly dodges attempts from the other children to talk to her while skillfully piling food onto plates.

I take our spoils back to our quiet corner, where we find Meredith engrossed in the manga. She's so focused she doesn't notice us until Fay plops down next to her.

She wiggles in surprise but calms down quickly when she realizes who it is. She hurriedly closes the book and focuses back on us.

As we sit in relative silence, watching Fay devour a metric ton of sweets, I break first, feeling immensely out of place.

"So... what is there to do at parties like this?"

"Absolutely nothing... except eating all the pastries."

"It's nice, you can act like a princess and do everything we learned in etiquette lessons."

That's a weird dichotomy. The noble girl hates it, while the non-noble enjoys it.

"Any ideas on how I can stave off the boredom?" I ask, just to see if they have any suggestions.

Meredith gives me a pensive look before saying, "Would you rather help Gray or keep her family off your back?"

That's disconcerting. If I have to choose, I'd rather have Gray be happy with me than keep her family content about my existence.

"How do I help Gray?" I respond heroically, expecting my next quest to be a daunting endeavor worthy of my name.

Fay answers instead. "Get her away from all the fakes. She doesn't want anything to do with them, but she can't snub them. You, on the other hand, aren't expected to know those customs, so you can save her the trouble." She explains this between bites of three different types of cake.

Without thinking too much about how meddling in such a mundane thing might affect the future, I begin to respond. "I'll go and—"

At that precise moment, the world spins. It feels like the type of life I will lead in this new world hinges on something this mundane. Everything grinds to a standstill, and the world loses vibrancy and color.

At this point of divergence, as if a gateway has opened, I see two distinct futures. I can feel that choosing either one will remove the other option entirely.

In one, I stand with Gray and a group of faceless people, staring at something I can only describe as the apocalypse—formless evil given shape. Yet despite the destruction, I don't see defeat. I see struggle. Defiance in the face of the inevitable. Behind us stands a tower of light, and a titan which holds the darkness at bay.

In the other, it's just Gray and me. We're fighting in a tournament with real weapons, the masses cheering for one of us to win. I can feel the happiness, the thrill of standing at the pinnacle of sports.

But this version is fleeting. From the outside looking in, I see what the me in that timeline cannot. The same sickening glow in the sky. The same apocalyptic timeframe. This time, though, we are not there to fight it.

Well, shit.

Can I truly make this type of decision?

At first glance, the choice seems easy. But having to consciously decide the final destination of my path is not.

Not acting is also an option. There were others ready to fight it. I could stay in my lane, let others handle the crisis, and hope for the best.

No.

I can't.

Even if it looks hopeless, maybe my decision will be enough to change the tide. That alone should be reason enough.

But truly, the reason I throw myself into that hell is not some heroic duty. No. It is because if the end of the world is coming, I want to protect the people closest to me.

Am I ready for this change? No. But I will try.

I step trough the gate showing me the desolate future.

As I make this momentous decision for the smallest of reasons, I feel something stir inside me. A voice, booming with two voices at once.

Thus, the Wheel of Fortune stands upright once more.​

As the world snaps back to normal, color and sound return. The voice still echoes in my head, the vision fading, but its weight remains.

I walk up to Gray and grab her hand.

"Hey, Gray, I've got something to show you. Let's ditch these idiots and do our own thing." My voice is full of determination.

I feel a lot of unfriendly eyes on me, holding the same kind of energy I felt from the graveyard.

I don't falter.

"I thought this was a birthday party, but it feels more like a boring party, and I can't even find the toilets around here." I add that last part just to hammer home that I don't belong here.

She looks at me, surprised, and actually snorts. Looking around, she responds, "Oh, sorry, I'm being a bad host. Follow me, I'll give you a short tour of the place." She drags me along.

As the vision fully fades, I hear the voice once more.

The Chariot follows in its wake.