I
Roland rubbed his forehead as he woke from a dream. He tossed the heavy bedsheets away and rolled out of his bed. He winced as he landed. Pain like a hammer with "good morning" printed on it surged from his back and shoulders. Dark lumps formed his room, faint light filtering from his window. The pain in his shoulder and hips had moved up to his head. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Catching up with his old teacher, Wallace, flushed out his shame from the battle, but the monster came back in his dreams.
No matter how much Roland flicked his lamp, it remained dark. Lights out from midnight to dawn, after all. A set of brushes clattered as he smacked them with his foot.
"Ah, dang," he mumbled as he tumbled over the shapes in his room and grasped for the door. He found it and stepped outside. A blast of light blinded him, and his headache throbbed, rushing from the back of his head to his eyes. "Turn that away, please," Roland mumbled.
"What if I don't want to?" Tod asked.
"Tod? Then shove it up your butt," Roland said. He pushed Tod aside, then stopped. "What are you doing up so late?"
"None of your business, squat," Tod said and moved away. Or his light did, at least. The headache throbbed as the light vanished, then slowed.
The inner gardens would help with his headache; they always did. Roland crossed the kitchen, hands-first to guide himself, then tiptoed out back to the hallway. Whoever made the kitchen stand between the hallways was an idiot. Then again, most of the building was left behind by the monster that ended the world, so perhaps it was on purpose just to mess with them. Faint snoring echoed in the hallway, mixing with a child's laugh. Someone talked about the poor lettuce harvest as Roland crossed to the door at the end that was marked with a sunflower. He opened the door and walked in.
Moonlight filtered from the ceiling window, illuminating the flowers in their gentle sway. The pond at the far edge reflected a blue aura. The last of his headache melted as he walked in, and the cool wind filtering through the vents touched his skin.
Benches of stone beaten by time stood around the flowers and trees; most of them with little plaques naming their sower. The biggest tree was at the farthest corner, beside the pond. A tree stump rested in its shade.
That stump had been Roland and Diana's place ever since they had memories. The two of them would go there to play with toy swords. Sometimes Tod would join them, but he stopped coming when he turned twelve three years ago. Most of Roland's drawings and paintings were done there. In a way, that stump was the cradle for his art, and in turn, the cradle for his passion.
Tonight, someone claimed the stump beneath the tree for themselves. A girl with blonde hair and olive skin. His eyes met her own, and he suppressed a gasp. Hers shone in the dark, a lighthouse for a lost sailor. And they were neon pink. Uncanny eyes passed over him and he shrank, a little bunny under the hawk's gaze. Her hands sharpened a knife in quick, dexterous movements, but Roland found it hard to pay attention to a blade for once. Roland was so mesmerized by the bizarre person he had found taking his usual spot that he forgot to complain, or to speak.
"What?" she asked. Her voice was strong, but not unpleasant.
"Umm, well, that's my usual spot, so, umm."
"So what?" She rolled her eyes and continued to work on her knife.
"Nothing, nothing. I, uh, who are you, anyway?"
"Someone. Haven't they told you it's polite to give your name first?"
"Well, then I'm Roland Days. Nice to meet you. I've never seen you here before. Are you from the Capital?"
"Oh, so you're that Roland." She took her eyes off the knife and looked at him. "From the east. Never been to this tin can before. Name's Beatrix."
Silence. Roland considered what "that Roland" could mean, but he was used to his half-assed celebrity status. He turned to go, then hesitated.
"Are you, uh, sharpening a knife?" He asked. "Wouldn't that be easier to do with sunlight?"
Beatrix sighed and rubbed her temples. "I'm doing it now because I thought no one would question me if I did it this late."
"Oh, sorry," Roland said. He shuffled his feet and bit his lip. "Are you staying for the dance?"
"I suppose." She glanced at the moon above the glass window. "I don't want to, however, so don't ask me."
"I wasn't going to," Roland said. "I don't want to go to the dance, anyway. It's just that Dad wants me to go."
"Mine, too," she said. "Before he wouldn't bring me, but this year he suddenly wanted me in here and meeting people. It's a drag."
"Yeah, I get that. Hey, would you" — he swallowed — "would you sneak away with me? Away from the dance, I mean."
"Huh." She cocked her eyebrow. "Aren't you the boss's kid? He'd be pissed."
"I know, but I don't want to go to the dance, seriously. I've been avoiding people these past days like they have a plague. Wallace is the only one I wanted to see," Roland said. "And we played chess earlier."
"Dad? Oh, right, he tutored you."
"Wallace is your dad? I've never heard anything about you," he blurted out. He cringed, but her face remained unfazed.
"I guess he wouldn't talk about me." She finished with her knife and sheathed it. She stretched and stood, then frowned. Glass crunched. "What was that?"
"What?" Roland asked, but then he heard it: a low crunch, glass breaking.
The top window cracked. Roland squinted and made out two shapes pushing on it. The window exploded, and he was rolling on the ground as shards of glass fell all over the garden. Screams and curses. Roland got up, helped by Beatrix.
Two gray mutants fell amid the broken glass. They turned and hissed. Beatrix unsheathed her knife and crouched, one arm in front of Roland.
"Stay back, kid," she said.
"I can fight."
"With your bare hands?"
"I can at least distract one."
"Bold, but they would smash you."
"Hey, I killed one of them yesterday, you know. Technically. With the help of a barista."
"A barista? She served him a couple of drinks, and the monster stumbled on your sword?"
"Ballista, I mean, like the bow thing."
The monsters took a step forward. Screams drifted from the hallway, as did the sound of swords. Someone barked orders beyond the door. The monsters took another step, crunching glass. Blood seeped from one of their stumps, but the wounded monster marched unfazed.
Roland looked around. Nothing, not even a stick. "Beatrix? I have an idea. Run opposite to me?" Roland dashed before she could say something.
One of the monsters took the bait. It turned to Roland and dashed. The door. If only he could get to the door. The monster swung a tentacle. Roland skidded under it and jumped to dodge the other. So fast! He stumbled toward the door.
The door burst open, and another monster joined from the hallway. Roland stopped inches from the thing's tentacle, swallowing a thousand curses.
A golden blade burst from the thing's stomach, and its head went flying. The monster was blasted away by Richard. Wind buffeted Roland as moonlit mist dispersed, then vanished, the last particles of durandite reflecting moonlight and stirring his father's hair.
"You okay, son?" Richard asked. He pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped the dark blood from the golden blade.
"Yes, Dad," Roland said. He took a deep breath. He was safe.
Cid flashed past Richard and slashed at the second monster, dark sword gleaming with moonlight.
"There's a third monster!" Roland shouted, but Cid was already slicing it, his black blade a blur that chimed as it chopped the monster to pieces. Cid spun the sword, a black katana, and sheathed it in one flowing motion. He kicked the corpse and squatted to examine it, then stood, shaking his head.
"Beatrix's here. You holding up?" Cid asked the girl. She nodded. "Good, she's safe," he said to himself.
Richard pulled a bag from the hallway and tossed it to Roland. "Get dressed."
"What?"
"You're taking the test," Richard said. "We're currently under attack, so I'm getting you out. No ifs, ands, or buts."
Inside the bag, Roland found a Scavenger uniform: brown jacket, pink cloak, boots, gloves, and pants — the last three in faded black. He squirmed into the clothes as fast as he could, finishing by fastening the gloves and the bootstraps. They looked like motocross boots. Probably what they used to be in the old world.
"It's a spare, but it'll have to do. The look suits you," Richard said.
Screams from outside, sounds of fighting. Wallace was out there, shouting.
"I, um, I don't think I'm ready," Roland found himself saying. "And aren't we in the middle of something?"
"You aren't, and we are."
"No, Dad, how can you say that? I couldn't fight the monsters here. I almost died yesterday. I —" He fought the urge to cry. "Wait, you said I'm not? Then why?"
"Something came up. Your uncle agrees with me." He looked at Cid, who nodded. "Son, I don't know if the Stronghold will survive tonight." Chaos seeped from the door. Screams, growls, blades swishing. "If it falls, we'll need help from the outside world. I already sent a couple of Scavengers, but I don't know if it'll be enough."
"What happened, what the hell is going on?"
Richard placed a hand on his shoulder. He rammed the sword in the ground and sent a blast of magic toward the door. A peeping figure was flung back.
"Trust me. Do you remember the head Rita brought back?"
"Yeah."
"We need every Scavenger out there investigating what's going on, but as you can see, most will be busy fighting." Richard shook his head, frowning. "I have reason to believe something big is happening, and I will need you out there." He frowned and stood, looking at the body of the monster. "It's happening again. The world's unraveling."
"Okay," Roland said. His father needed him. Those were words he never expected to hear, words he never imagined would be possible. The hero-priest needing him. The one who had led the survivors and defeated countless monstrosities? "I'll do my best." He gripped his hands together to smother the shakiness.
"Good. Cid will take you. Beatrix, I'll need your help. We can't let the Stronghold fall. Your dad is protecting the food at the kitchen. Go to him and tell him what happened here."
"Y-yes," she said and dashed out. Roland stared at her as she dived into the mad crowd outside the garden. Fire! Inside the Stronghold! Cloaked figures struggled with citizens who wielded clubs and cheap swords. Madness. Every important member of the island's makeshift government was at the Stronghold.
"For your test, you have to get to the Capital on your own. I'll pray for your safety. Take him to the safehouse, Cid. And one more thing." Richard pulled the sword from the ground and shook the dirt away from the tip. A normal blade would be damaged, but the golden sword never lost sharpness. Richard undid his sheath and encased the sword, holding it forward. "It's going to be dangerous. Take this."
Roland chuckled. It had to be a joke.
"I need you to take care of it. Promise me you will take care of it."
"For real? But it's your sword!"
"And you're my son. It will keep you safe, and in turn, you must keep it safe. It's a deal," Richard said.
Roland took the sword. The weight pulled him down. "I'll take care of it, Dad. I promise."
"Thank you. I will pray for your safety. Take him, Cid."
"Are you sure about this?" Cid asked. He grunted when Richard nodded and turned to Roland. "This is gonna be one hell of a ride, kid," Cid said and crouched. "Get on my back."
Curious, Roland held on to his uncle. Cid took a deep breath and blasted himself forward with durandite. Wind and flame and smoke rushed at Roland as Cid dashed through the hallways, ducking, turning, kicking the wall and the floor. Ceramic vases stumbled and shattered behind as they flew, the crashes swallowed by screams.
Cid stopped in front of the gates, panting. They were open. "How could it be?" he managed between gasps for air. Blood dripped from his nose.
"Uncle?"
"Someone betrayed us," Cid said. "Clementine? No, that's too much even for her."
Clementine. Diana! "Uncle, where's Diana?"
"I have no idea, kid. Hold on tight, we're getting out of here. Your dad will take care of her. I hope."