The apprentice had barely disappeared through the back curtain when the man beside Arorox spoke in a low voice.
"I need your help." He paused for a moment, awaiting a reaction.
But Arorox paid him no attention, still watching the unchanging ceiling.
Noticing that he wouldn't get a response, the patient continued, his voice drained of energy and happiness, "My wife... she will die. Tomorrow. In battle. I cannot rescue her alone."
He paused briefly, letting the information sink in.
A few questions began to form in Arorox's mind. 'Tomorrow? Is he talking about a hunch, or does he actually know his wife is going to die? Or is he simply mad? Why is he even telling me this in the first place?'
"Things will go wrong, and many more people will die than expected," the patient continued.
Arorox slowly turned his head towards the patient, meeting his amber eyes. His short hazelnut hair was completely dishevelled. He looked to be in his twenties. The man wore an old white tunic, often patched and stained. The same could be said about his light brown pants.
"They will plan to kill the Guardian. But as we follow its trail through the depths of the jungle, we will be ambushed by a tide of Tiremates. It will be sudden, somewhat unexpected, but we will manage to handle it. Then the Guardian will appear, and chaos will break out."
"That hideous thing... its sinister smile, the way it killed..."
As the patient began to describe just what a horror that thing was, Arorox began to hear a voice. It was the same voice that had sung to his music, only now the woman roared. He saw her, the most beautiful woman, through the narrow slit of his helmet. She was clad in transitional armor with a black surcoat, on which sat a golden rose with golden rays. In her hands were a targe and a falchion. In his, a hand-and-a-half sword.
Strewn around them lay corpses, some human, some insect-like. Each looked more grotesque than the last. Some had been torn apart. Some were mangled beyond any recognition as human. Some defied description entirely. But he spared the dead no attention. Not with what stood before him.
It was a horror that struck fear into him. Its sinister smile, its black chitin, tougher than the scales of a dragon. Its body bore the shape of a monstrous scorpion, but where legs should have been, ten human-like arms unfurled instead, each ending in long, curved claws. Between them and the remaining four was a wide gap, where the body twisted upward into what could be called an upper body.
Where a face should have sat, there was only a maw, vast and grimacing, its endless rows of teeth wide enough to swallow a man whole. It brimmed with a viscous white liquid, the same liquid that coated the tip of the tail, where the stinger sat. Almost every part of its body was encased in a layer of matte black chitin. Only its grey, wrinkled neck was free of it.
And beneath it all, that sound. That clicking. Relentless, ceaseless, seeping from the narrow slit between upper and lower body.
Out of fear, Arorox grabbed the woman's arm and ran. He ran as fast as he could, not daring to look behind him. But the clicking never grew quieter. On the contrary, it grew louder and more erratic, as if it were laughing, savoring their pointless attempt to escape.
Then something struck him from behind, and he was thrown to the ground, her arm torn from his grasp. He curled up and shortly after he heard her screams. Screams of agony. He heard her body being crushed and ripped apart. The horror seemed to laugh even louder as Arorox began to sob and cry out, overwhelmed by fear and grief. When the woman's screams finally ended, he heard something drop. Not daring to look up.
He curled up even tighter, hoping the nightmare would end. Then he felt something grip each of his limbs. He screamed and fought back with all his might, but in vain. As his body was stretched apart, he was lifted into the air and forced to look at the mangled corpse of the woman.
His screams grew louder, and so did the laughing clicks.
Then he was pushed into its maw, slowly crushed, shredded, and drowned in poison. Just when the agony could not get any worse, he was standing at the beginning again.
Before him stood the horror. The woman roared and lunged at it, aiming for its neck, but one of its four hands caught her blade. While the other three struck at her, she tried to block them with her shield. But instead of hitting the shield, two hands seized it and held it in place, while the third drove into her shoulder. Slowly, the hand lifted her off the ground. She grunted in pain. At the same moment, the hand that had caught the sword wrenched it from her grip and hurled it at Arorox.
He had already dropped his weapon, and his will to fight with it. Paralyzed by fear, he just stood there. The blade pierced his throat, and the last thing he saw was the pair of letters engraved on the hilt: E and W.
Then he was standing at the beginning again. The woman roared and, moments later, lunged forward. Only this time, a montante was in his hands.
He dropped it the instant he saw the horror again. His fear only grew. He screamed in his mind.
'I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this'
A little later, the same sword pierced his chest again. Then he stood at the beginning once more, frozen, and moments later, dead. Only to be alive and dead again. Alive, dead, alive, dead, alive, dead. He screamed, writhed, and fought against the memory, desperate never to live it again, but it would not stop.
It was a nightmare with no end.
He was pierced, impaled, crushed, shredded, poisoned, and laughed at. Death after death, the pain never lessened. Neither did the woman's screams. Nor did the sadness they stirred in him.
Then a voice reached him. Muffled at first, as if it came from beneath deep water. Bit by bit, it grew clearer, and with it came the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He gasped, and the nightmare shattered.
"Are you alright?" the patient asked, worry in his voice.
Out of breath and hoarse, Arorox managed a nod. "Yeah. I'm okay," he said, his throat aching with every word.
The patient slowly let go of his shoulder. "That's good." He paused for a moment before asking, "What happened?"
Images of the horror flashed through his mind, making him grunt and shake his head violently.
"Just a panic attack," he replied, his voice strained.
The patient gave him a skeptical look before sitting down on his bed. After a short, awkward silence, the patient asked, "So, are you going to help me?"
"What?" Arorox asked, confused.
"Look, I don't know exactly why it has to be you either. The oracle predicts that my wife will be one of the first to die by that thing's hands, and you are the only one who can help me. So please, I am begging you." The patient's voice was full of desperation.
'He knows. He knows too much to be guessing. Maybe he read some old records and is just repeating them, but why would he tell me all that if it wasn't real?'
After a while, he told the patient, "The oracle also told me that she will be there. Only by rescuing my wife will we rescue her as well. If you try to find her before tomorrow's battle, she will die."
'Does he mean her?'
Flashes of the dead body of the most beautiful woman came to his mind.
'Kill yourself, Death. I don't want her to die. I want to know more about her. But...'
Fear struck him at the thought of what he had to face.
'How does the oracle even know about her death, and about me not wanting it?... One thing was certain now: by telling me all that, it made it impossible to deny that what the patient said is the truth. But why did the oracle tell the patient the future? What future is it trying to shape? Can I trust it? If I don't, what might happen?'
Images of the most beautiful woman and himself dying in agony came to his mind. Throughout all those deaths, a few things changed, their location, their weapons, the way they died, but he was always with her.
'Maybe by not being with her, I can save her. By fighting alongside the patient, before anyone else does. The worst that can happen is that I get gruesomely killed, sent three days into the past, and can change my choice.'
He knew he should trust the oracle. But the fear.
'The fear will always be there, no matter what I choose.'
Arorox sighed, fear lacing his voice. "I will help you."
Instantly, the patient's face brightened a little.
As the patient opened his mouth to speak, people outside began shouting, "Make way! Make way!"
The shout repeated, growing louder and closer, until people in white armor stormed into the tent. Some had their helmets on, some didn't. Among them were familiar faces: the king, and Akash, who carried a woman clad in the same armor.
Arorox's attention snapped to the king, who asked him and the patient, "Where is the doctor?"
But before either of them could answer, the apprentice walked in with an old man, who, after looking at the injured woman, immediately said, "Bring her to the back." He took the lead at once, walking to the back curtain and disappearing behind it, closely followed by Akash and the king. Before entering, the king commanded the others to stay outside.
"Arorox."
Having gotten his attention, the patient suggested, "Let's go outside. Find a place where we can talk more privately. We won't get any information about this anytime soon."
Arorox nodded and followed him outside. It was a beautiful, clear night, the stars shining brightly, and strangely, there was no moon.
As the two of them strolled between the tents, they tried to figure out what might have happened. Unfortunately, with no success.
At some point, they stopped at the food distribution to get their rations. Sitting down on a nearby bench, tucked between the tents, they began to eat their bread and salted meat. While eating, the patient recalled the last thing the oracle had told him: that they would know where they had to be and what they had to do when the time came.
Basically, it was telling him not to make a plan and instead follow his instincts. Something neither of them liked.
Then a simple question came to Arorox's mind. A question he should have asked ages ago.
"What is your name?"
The patient stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. He couldn't stop. Every time he was close to calming down, he looked at Arorox and started laughing again.
After a while, he finally pulled himself together and answered, "Ah, sorry. My name is Valith Lorian." Shortly after, he added, "Thank you for agreeing to help me."
Arorox responded with a smile before asking, "What does your wife look like? So I can recognize her in battle."
Valith seemed a bit reluctant. He thought for a while before saying, "She'll probably have purple hair, because she's a prisoner. She's extraordinarily tall. Taller than you. Her eyes used to be a beautiful grey, but a dyeing accident permanently stained them purple. I don't think it was an accident. Those bastards torment people for their own enjoyment."