The road is still rumbling on beneath the bed of the pickup truck where I lie, and I’m starting to thinkbedis a weird word for this thing. It’s one of those words that just came to me, but it can’t be right.
This is the worst bed I’ve ever slept in.
Still.
I’m alive.
And the fact that I feel better means I must be a lot closer to my human than I was when I fell asleep.
The question is…how do I find her?
You
You groan, rolling over.
Where are you?
You appear to be in some sort of bed. Taking stock of the situation, you note that your hands are not bound (that’s a good sign, at least), and there’s a glass of water on the battered, rustic end table beside the bed.
That’s when you see it—there’s the tiny sword, glinting like a beacon of hope on the scuffed, wooden surface.
A chair creaks behind you as you reach for it.
The old woman stands up from the far corner of the room, slowly making her way over to you.
“I plucked that from those buffoons before we left,” she says. “Figured you might be needing your weapon back, Chosen One.”
Chosen One.
You groan, rubbing your temples as you slip the sheathed tiny sword safely back into your pocket.
How did she know it was yours?
“I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve got the wrong person.”
The old woman just laughs in response.
“Nonsense! I had a vision, young lady. Many, many years ago, a prophecy, if you will. And I have been waiting for this day—the day when you save us!”
You blink.
So she’s magical, too.
Or, at least, shethinksshe is.
You don’t particularly feel up to saving anyone, let alone yourself.
The bright morning sun is streaming in blindingly bright rays through the open curtains, not at all helping the hungover feeling knocking around inside your skull.
But at least you’re alive.
That’s got to be a good sign.
Does that mean Ziros is on his way? You hope it does.
Ziros, you think as loudly as you can, hoping maybe he can hear you somehow.I’m at some sort of cult, I think. I hope you’re okay! Please tell me you’re alright.
You’re not expecting a response.
