An angry red scar

  Ren woke up to a baritone pounding in his ears. He felt bile rising in his throat and blinked back a dazed feeling. The room he was in was dimly lit, with no other visible occupants. The noise still filling his head was not yet gone. He sighed, and, with a great deal of effort, struggled out of the bed.

  He felt weak and feeble as the cold nipped his bare feet. Standing made him feel nauseous, and was annoyingly difficult. Even after reaching a hand into the darkness to steady himself. Ren’s fingers collided with a glass on the nightstand. Glass shattered on the cool tiles and water soaked Ren’s shirt.

  He bent down to pick up the shards of glass. Then the events of the previous day flooded his mind. Replaying incessantly, to the point where he pounded on his head to silence the thoughts. He had argued with his mother.

  His mother had died later that day.

  There was a strange letter too, one from someone he had never met. But that paled in comparison to the previous two in Ren’s mind.

  He swallowed and took several deep breathes. Ren opened his fist to find a piece of glass and a stream of blood. The shard had dug deep into his palm. He winced.

  “Be careful, that’s going to scar”

  Ren jumped. There was a boy, a few years older than him, looking back at him. “W-Who are you?”

  “Wait, you’re awake!?” another boy, seemingly older than Ren, said. “Dimwit, why didn’t you tell me?” The boy said again, now turning his attention to the boy in front of Ren.

  “Who are you?” Ren tried again.

  The first boy ignored him. “Just quit being idiotic for one second. I’ll tell the Lord Summoner he’s awake. Get him into fresh clothes.”

  The Lord Summoner?

  “Right, okay”

  The first boy headed out of the room, leaving Ren and the other boy alone.

  “Hi, I’m Dean.” He grinned.

  “Ren”

  Dean nodded. Blond hair was falling haphazardly across his face. The boy seemed to buzz with energy. He beamed at Ren.

  “There are legends about you. I’ve always loved reading them”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “There’s a prophecy, about you” Dean said, his voice the tone of someone who had just met their hero, and was now eagerly asking for an autograph.

  “Wha- No, no. I’m sorry but that’s not me. I d-don’t-”

  Ren wanted to wake up from whatever fever dream this was.

  “No, but you have the scar” Dean said. His face falling slightly.

  “What?”

  Dean pointed to an angry red scar, running down Ren’s forearm.

  “That’s nothing. It’s just a birthmark, I was born with it”

  A sad smile creased Dean’s face.

  “The past heroes took this a lot better than you” he said.

  “Heroes?”

  “Yeah, the ones before you, of course.”

  Ren fell silent. “I’m not a hero.” His voice was quiet, breaking slightly on the last bit. Dean stared at him with a confused expression. Then, “There are clothes in the wardrobe.”

  “I’ll wait outside while you change” Dean called, before closing the door. Ren had to escape. He had to visit his dad just like he said he would. Ren opened the wardrobe door, he found strange looking clothes. Black cloaks, doublets, and tunics filled the small space. He looked down at his own clothes. A white t-shirt and jeans. The contents of the wardrobe were new to Ren. He blinked.

  Ren walked back to the bed. The pounding in his ears building to an annoying crescendo. He sighed. His red hoodie was strewn across the side of the bed. He pulled it on. Ren opened the door. “Hey. I’m ready” he said.

  Dean was leaning on a wall. “Great! I’ve never seen mortal clothes before.”

  “What?” Ren asked, but Dean was already walking down the hallway. The narrow corridors they were passing were lit by lanterns hanging from the ceiling. “Interesting décor” he murmured.

  “Um, where are we?”

  “Frayal” Dean said, a grin playing on his lips. He motioned to a painting on the hall way wall. It was a map, drawn on aged parchment. The place names were scrawled with neat penmanship.

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  Ren blinked. “I’ve never heard of “Frayal” before”

  “That’s because you’re from the mortal realm. I bet you’ve never see magic, either”

  “What do you mean? What’s the mortal realm?” Ren ended the sentence with a breathy laugh that sounded more like a plea for help.

  “You’ll see” Dean said, smiling. They reached a set of doors. The doors seemed to open themselves, and Ren bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

  They entered a big room. Actually, Ren thought, this room is a lot more than big. There was a throne at the end of the room, resting on a platform. Banners hung from the walls, displaying elemental powers.

  “Lord Summoner, this is Ren” Dean said, hiding a smile.

  “I’ve waited a long time to meet you, chosen hero” The figure on the throne said, tapping a finger on the arm of the seat.

  “I-I’m not a hero, though.”

  The Summoner gave Ren a confused glance. His facial features relaxed into calm understanding. “My apologies, you must be from the mortal realm. Yes?”

  “Uh, I think. But what’s the mortal realm?”

  The Summoner sighed. “The mortal realm, Ren. Is the term for what you would call ‘earth’.”

  Ren bristled. How did he know his name? The Summoner cleared his throat.

  “I am the Lord Summoner, boy.”

  Ren nodded.

  “I hope you will not disappoint. There are many legends of you”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, boy. Variations of course, but still you”

  “B-But how?” Ren stuttered.

  “The chosen hero is burdened with the prophecy. The cycle is fated to repeat, you see. All the past heroes have died trying”

  A feeble laugh rose inside Ren. He didn’t know why it happened. There was nothing funny about this situation, Ren knew this. But, nonetheless, the sound echoed through the room. It sounded chocked and Ren winced.

  The Lord Summoner sighed. “Boy, you are our only hope. The prophecy is said to be as old as this Kingdom. Each time left unfulfilled a more dire punishment arises”

  Ren fiddled with the zip of his hoodie. “What happens if the prophecy is ‘fulfilled’?” he asked.

  The Summoner rested his hands in his lap. “Then boy, our Kingdom would know peace”

  Ren shifted, uneasy. He thought of his mother, then his father.

  “What if I didn’t want to?” Usually he would hate himself for saying something like this, but the thoughts of his mother were incessantly filling his head.

  “That would be quite unfortunate for me, of course”

  Ren didn’t meet his eyes. Instead focusing on the ground beneath him. The Summoner gave him a brief glance. “You mean what would happen to you.” It was not a question.

  “Yeah”

  “You, boy, would be choosing the easy way out”

  “Would-d my mother…” he trailed off.

  “Yes, boy, you mother would still be dead”

  Ren blinked. “Oh.”

  “Do you wish to leave?”

  Ren thought of his father. Thought of his father’s face after realizing his son was missing.

  “Y-Yes”

  “Very well, boy. Just know that one does not escape fate”

  Ren put his hands in his pockets. He did not believe in “fate”. If fate was real then how could it be so cruel? His father did not to deserve to end up in hospital, no one did. Especially when they were never going to walk through the exit.

  The Summoner cleared his throat. “I hope we will meet again, chosen hero.” A guard led Ren out of the room. Dean turned to face the Summoner, his face falling.

  “Why did you let him go, My Lord?” he asked.

  The Summoner rapped his fingers on the wood of his throne. “He will come back. I know he will.” The Summoner’s face remained passive, but there was a slight edge to his voice.

  ===

  Ren blinked and sat up uneasily. He wiped a closed fist against his face. Opening his fist, he sighed. A small piece of paper. It was inked in neat script, reading:

  Just say the words, chosen hero, and I’ll find you.

  A burning anger rose in Ren. He crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket. Ren scanned the room. It looked like he was in a coffee shop. The room was filled with warm light. The smell of coffee filled Ren’s lungs. He pushed up from the table.

  He was still in the same clothes. A red hoodie and jeans. Though they looked aged, and frayed. He ignored it and pushed out of the coffee shop. The air was cold and wiped Ren as soon as he walked out of the little shop, bell still chiming as he went. The coffee shop was a stark contrast to the rest of the city. Where one was warm light, and chiming bells, the other was dark, abandoned looking buildings. And an eerie screech, traveling on the wind and seeming to chase Ren.

  He found this strange. Usually the city would be full of people and less…sad, Ren thought. The hospital loomed in the distance. He should be running to his home, desperate to check on his mother. But something about the coffee shop was pulling him back. That and the fact that he felt a sense of dread at the thought of going back to his home. He didn’t want to see her dead. She was dead. Instead of accepting that fact he wanted to live in ignorance. Ignorance was always better than the truth.

  So, he followed the concrete sidewalk until the hospital building towered over him. The shadow of the building casting a dark shield over Ren. They always seemed to be there, always looming over him. As if ready to wrap him in a blanket of darkness with all his worst thoughts. Today, though, he let them consume him.

  “Hello?” The receptionist asked. She had neat greying hair. “Hi, it’s um, Ren” he said. She blinked.

  “Um, I’m here to visit Richard Davis”

  She looked down and started typing on her keyboard. A frown crease her brow. “Richard Davis died in this hospital thirty seven years ago” she said.

  Ren blinked. “What? That’s probably the wrong Richard Davis.” He swallowed.

  “No, I don’t have any other Richard Davis’ in the system.

  “No, but he’s my father”

  She curved her lips in a sad smile. “Date of birth?” she tried.

  “Second of February, 1971” he said, tripping over the words.

  “I’m sorry, honey. He’s dead.” Concern laced her voice and Ren wished she had hid it. He swallowed.

  “He can’t. I was here yesterday. He was fine”

  Worry creased her face. Brows lowered, she said, “Sorry, love. I’m just going to get a doctor. But, em, what date was it exactly when you visited yesterday?”

  Ren gave her a confused glance. Then said reluctantly, “The fifth of September. Why?”

  “And, uh, what year?”

  It was Ren’s turn to look concerned. “2024. I don’t see why that’s relevant, though”

  The woman’s face paled. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Leaving Ren to stand and listen to the incessant clicking. She got up and told Ren to stay there. He clenched his fist and his jaw was tensed. Ren didn’t want to wait there, he wanted his father.

  He wanted to get home and find his mother, not an empty shell of their memories together.

  Ren fought the sense of dread and left the hospital. It didn’t seem like he would be let near his father anytime soon. He kicked a stone and it fell down the drain. Giving a small plunk when it met the water.

  There weren’t a lot of people. It was quieter than normal. He passed the grave yard. This was the way he usually went when he wanted to kill time. He wanted to do more than kill time. He wanted it to stop dead in its tracks and rewind, leaving him and his parents happiness. The happiness they had before this mess happened.

  Ren froze. As he was passing a semi-new grave he had stopped to read the writing on the headstone. It had said Dai Summers, 2008 – 2050.

  This had stood out to Ren for two reasons. One, the gravestone said 2050. Two, Dai Summers was his best – and only – friend.