Chapter 44
Written by Bayzo Albion
"How utterly boring," my double drawled, lacing his hands behind his head and letting out an exaggerated sigh that made the magical candle's flame in the corner of the tent flicker wildly, casting jittery shadows across the canvas walls like ghosts in a frantic dance. "Here's the paradox: we have no problems—and that makes everything even more tedious. Absurd, right? You get it?"
"Be careful what you wish for," I narrowed my eyes at him, a warning edge creeping into my voice. "Words have a nasty habit of coming true. Especially in a place like this."
"What do we have to fear? Trivialities?" He smirked, lounging even more indolently on the creaky camp cot, the springs groaning under his weight like an old man's complaints. "All our so-called 'problems' dissolve thanks to sheer luck. Even if we deliberately dive into trouble, it crumbles to dust before it can take hold. We're gliding through life like on ice—nothing to grip, nothing to trip us up."
"You talk like things were more fun back in the world of the living," I shot back, crumpling a scrap of paper and tossing it at him. He didn't even flinch as it bounced harmlessly off his chest.
"Oh, on that, I couldn't agree more," he replied lazily, shaking his head with the air of someone confessing a minor, almost childish flaw. "Hey, how about we head to the village? Grab some booze, ogle the new girls... Or maybe some absurd furniture. Souvenirs, even."
"They'd kill us on sight."
"True enough," he mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully, and for the first time in ages, that spark ignited in his eyes—the one I'd been missing. "There you have it: our first real problem in forever. So, how do we solve it, genius?"
"You're the solution," I couldn't help but grin.
He froze. That playful, forced smile slid off his face like a discarded mask.
"Are you saying my death means nothing?" His voice, usually as carefree as rustling leaves, turned steely serious for the first time.
"You're immortal as long as I live. We're both... not quite. We just exist. But to truly live, you need risk. You need the possibility of an end."
He fell silent for a long stretch. The air in the tent grew thick and oppressive, hanging heavy like a storm about to break. The shadow behind him seemed to still, as if holding its breath.
"So... a life without the chance of death is worthless?" He said it slowly, savoring each word like an unfamiliar vintage wine, testing its bitterness.
"Exactly," I whispered.
And for the first time in our endless existence, his smile vanished completely. Genuinely. In his eyes, I saw not boredom, but a cold, fathomless understanding. In that silence, something new was born. Not tedium. Anticipation.
– – –
From the Perspective of the Second Self
I'd never grasped how split personalities worked. Now, it was all too clear—painfully so.
Paradise had become my rebirth. I rose from the shackles of death like a phoenix from ashes. Not from the ashes of a body, but from the cinders of a soul that had been slowly suffocating for years, drowning in the gray, viscous mire of routine.
My true self had died long ago—well before I even set foot in the world of the living. It was crushed bit by bit under the grinding wheels of society, where I'd always been an outsider. People shunned my quirks, my otherness. They avoided me, judged me, or simply pretended I didn't exist. Inch by inch, word by word, that world eroded everything that made me me: my dreams, my courage, my honesty with myself. In the end, all that remained was an empty shell, living by others' rules and too afraid to remember who I'd once been.
Today, I was heading to the village. For the first time—alone. Though, honestly, "alone" was a mere illusion. There was no real distance between us—just a facade. We were bound tighter than Siamese twins, stronger than any vow. We were one entity, two faces of the same coin, the light and shadow of a single mind.
The forest greeted me with the whisper of leaves and the cheerful chirps of invisible birds hidden in the canopy. Soft sunlight filtered through the branches, painting the path with intricate patterns, as if some divine artisan had embroidered the trail with threads of gold. I walked, but my thoughts soared between earth and sky, tangled in the swirling clouds of memories. My life had never been easy. But who made it that way? Me. I'd complicated the simple, agonized over the trivial, obsessed over nonsense while letting the vital slip away.
Three hours of trekking, and the village gates loomed ahead. I paused, struck by the sight. At the entrance stood a guard—an ironclad knight in pitiful, rust-eaten armor that looked more like a relic from a dusty museum than actual protection.
"Lost in thought?" he asked, removing his helmet. His eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity, and for a split second, I thought he might reach for his sword—not out of hostility, but sheer surprise. "Need any help?"
"No thanks, good sir," I replied, brushing road dust from my cloak with a casual flick. "I'm just... surprised I'm still breathing after my run-in with the Forest Queen."
The knight clapped me on the shoulder with a force that made his armor clank pathetically. "I believe you, buddy! Don't worry—the Forest Queen doesn't touch worthy folk!"
"Except she already killed me. Briefly, though—immortality has its perks," I chuckled inwardly.
"What's your name, wanderer?" he pressed, adjusting a worn shoulder plate that threatened to slip off.
"Gandalf of Rivia."
The warrior's eyes widened as if I'd just declared myself the incarnation of ancient evil. He fumbled frantically at his belt, pulling out a magical slate where glowing symbols began to scroll. His fingers trembled like those of a man realizing he'd grabbed a venomous snake instead of a tool.
"The same Gandalf who drove our village elder to the brink of madness?"
"The very one," I nodded. "But tell me, where are those proud knights whose armor shone like stars? Why are you the only one at the gates, and in these... ragged, battered, hole-ridden plates?"
"Right now, they're all guarding the village head... from you," he snapped, then added offhandedly, "Heard you bested the Baroness."
"Though, to be precise, I conquered the Baroness with a different kind of weapon. Without my dragon in the pants, I doubt I'd have managed," I smirked to myself.
"I guess I just got lucky... if you catch my drift."
"Of course," the knight coughed, hiding an awkward grin. "With such a... big and long trunk, it's no wonder you won her heart... ahem..."
"I offer my deepest apologies," I said with a slight bow, sensing his gaze turning appraising, almost wary.
The air hung heavy with pause, broken only by the distant twitter of birds in the treetops.
"Forget it," he waved it off eventually, though a note of caution lingered in his tone. "So... what brings you to our neck of the woods?"
"Shopping," I blurted, inspecting my nails as if they were the sole purpose of my journey.
The knight froze, as if I'd announced plans to purchase the moon.
"Pardon... what did you say?"
"I'm here to spend money," I clarified, pulling out a hefty pouch and idly jingling the gold coins for emphasis, letting the metallic chime seal the deal. "You know... buy some useless stuff."
"And... that's it?" Confusion and suspicion warred in his voice.
"Yeah..?" I pondered for a beat. "Well, maybe grab a drink too. But mostly shopping."
He scratched his chin, clearly rifling through his mental rulebook and finding no entry for this scenario. "I need to contact the village head to let you in. You mind waiting?"
"Not at all!" I interrupted cheerfully and plopped down right on the ground, settling in as if I had eternity—which, in a way, I did.
The hours dragged on agonizingly. I replayed every questionable daydream my brain could dredge up (because, let's face it—everyone's got a private highlight reel for moments like these). Between bouts of restless imagination, I tore into the jerky from my pack—three times, for good measure—and even doodled a few "artistically suggestive" masterpieces in the sand, the kind you'd never hang in a public gallery. When that lost its charm, I gave in and napped for a couple of hours, the heat and boredom lulling me into uneasy dreams.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, the knight finally reappeared on the horizon. But he looked like he'd crawled through a viper pit: pale as fresh limewash, his left eye twitching in a nervous tic.
"Well," I yawned, stretching luxuriously with a satisfying crack of my spine, "did your elder greenlight me to plunder the local shops?"
The knight swallowed hard, as if choking down an unchewed hunk of meat.