My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

With spirits rejuvenated, or rather… intimidated, I continued on doing what I do best.

Falling, that is.

Failing a lot.

But also persevering, persisting… enduring onwards with every fiber of my being remaining. You ask me, I think I'm actually even better at that than failing.

Once I stopped thinking, I was able to finally cast all my doubts aside. The thing about messing up constantly in a seemingly never-ending cycle was that in a strange roundabout way, it drastically helped to alleviate the pressure of starting over.

After all, if you're still getting it wrong after the ninety-ninth attempt at it, then what's a hundredth, really?

And thus, eventually, the high odds began to gradually even out in my favor. It started slowly, indiscernibly, barely warranting the attention it's even given - but with a careful nudge, a refined risk, the bubble I've been trying to blow popped a little later than usual.

The next attempt - even later. And the one after that, even more so. Again and again, failure after failure, progress swelled faster and faster.

Somewhere between attempts, I realized I didn't have to be as careful as before, the process was becoming less precarious, the bubble less fragile… the little drafts of wind leaving me blew freely, potently; Irene twitched, her fingers curling, gripping tighter, and with eyes firmly shut, I could feel the silent exchange, the ebb and flow, from inside me to within her.

"Harmony," Irene whispered, lifting up my weary arms and keeping them from sagging. "Hold here. Now, just focus… channel your intent… amplify it… hold it."

The bubble expanded - encompassing the entire living space, even deeper it went, swallowing the furthest edges of her kitchen, the dark narrow stretch of her hallway, forming along the emptiness of her walls.

I then felt it graze the earth, ripple through the hardened soil, rifle across the dense snow, and there, it stagnated - a familiar throbbing pain reverberated through my bones. I was doing it wrong, or I was doing too much.

Maybe it was the worst of both.

Knowing me, that's basically my third specialty.

"It's okay," Irene said, staring straight at me, seemingly as if sharing my sensations. "It's enough. Keep where you are, don't let go of me yet. Just a little more… give me just a little more."

It hurt, it ached, in the same unbearably way that stubbornness always does. Pins and needles, rending and stabbing, surging fiercer by the second. I think the worst part about this whole thing was that I knew this wasn't even close to being as bad as it could possibly get.

And that if I wanted to make this happen… then I'm gonna have to get a little closer.

I gave a little more, felt more coursing, and more ebbing. Barely an ounce more, I think - yet when it came to the pain, 'barely' made all the difference between tortuous and unrelenting agony. Still, even then…

It wasn't even close.

"Okay, stop! Stop here…" Irene spoke up, her voice slowly descending from alarm. "This is enough. I think - yes, it's probably… it's good enough."

I couldn't even let go despite how badly I wanted to. There wasn't a single muscle or tendon in my arms that I could lift, not even twitch, a tremble… instead, Irene took care of all my pressing needs.

She laid me gently to rest, propping my head upright with a pillow. And from what little I could see through long, heavy blinks, she made quite the ruckus in the kitchen - returning in haste with a tall glass of water to which she promptly began to use to pry open my lips, tilting it forward.

"You got questions to ask?" Irene said, correctly surmising the look in my eyes as she lifted the drink higher. "Finish the whole glass."

Eventually, I got far enough to the bottom to see my own glossy, glazed reflecting back, but just when I thought all was well with me once more, I tried moving my body a little… and that was when I found out the hard way it wasn't so easy to breath when you got your whole face suddenly stuffed against the couch.

"You really think you'd recover so soon?" I heard Irene lament above me, before she spun me back right side up and laid me flat in place as if setting me on a stretcher. "Ten minutes, alright? And if you're still aching after that - make it twenty."

"Irene," I finally managed to muster my voice, sounding lesser than a whisper. "The barrier? Did we…?"

Her long, raven locks danced daintily above me, her hazel looming and gleaming so close… it would have been quite the pleasant sight had only her expression matched the rest of the view.

"I… I think so," she replied, skirting away from my vision, and with the sound of her footsteps leaving, she continued. "It's… what you manage to fabricate… well, it's quite haphazard."

"I didn't do it?"

"I didn't say that. It's just… you're inexperienced and a perfect barrier it's not something you'd succeed at on the first try. And given your catalyst, the circumstances… you did what you could. And you did better than most."

Somehow, in spite of her assurances, I felt even more of myself leave my body.

"So there are mistakes?"

"Inexperience," she repeated again, reappearing once more by my side with another brimming glass. "Yes, it absolutely could have been much better than it is. But you were in pain, and you were expending much more than you should be. Maybe if you continued for a little longer, then perhaps - "

"Then why didn't you let me?"

"You were in pain," slower, firmer, she reiterated… silencing me at once with a flood of icy-cold water. "And just for good measure, I'll repeat myself again: I think you did it. From what I can sense… the barrier is in place, and for the time being, it's holding."

So she says… but in the deathly silence, the numbing pain, and my cheeks bulging into bags of water… it sure didn't feel like anything was happening.

For a barrier designed to keep Death at bay, I was expecting a bit more… flair, I guess.

"How long will it hold for?"

"That, I don't know," she admitted with a sigh. "For long enough, hopefully… or at least just long enough to rid of Lady Enstar's influence completely. That's all we need."

"And how do we know if it's actually working as intended?"

"Well…"

For a moment, it sounded as if Irene was having difficulties coming up with an explanation… but upon looking at her, I realized it was a whole 'nother matter entirely.

Her eyes had drifted, alerted… and that was when I heard it too, a scampering, a faint shuffling noise that belonged to neither of us.

"Is that…?"

I attempted to lift myself up slowly, but then I heard the sound of a nearby door flinging wide open, and the shock of it had my eyes rattling back sideways over the edge of the couch.

All was a brief blur as the pain tore through me. Yet in spite of it, I did manage to notice one thing…

I suddenly felt very, very warm.

After that, after realizing that, feeling that… I didn't even need to see to know what was there, who was there…

A scorching, flickering red completely enveloped the white walls, the dim shadows, of the lone, narrow hall in front of us… creeping closer, blazing stronger.

I hoisted myself up again, this time succeeding - and blinking once, mustering all my focus, I finally saw her clearer, better, and brighter than ever.

In all her glory, in all her grand luminosity. Her eyes blazing rife with the crimson red of life. Her hair retained its blinding smoldering luster. She looked the same, nothing had changed… as if she had only went and gone for a single night's rest.

And now… Ria was finally awake.

And also very, very quiet.

Too quiet.

Irene shifted, and immediately Ria snapped to her slightest sign of movement. They locked eyes, they remained staring, but surprisingly, neither reacted to the other.

And so, Ria moved on.

Her destination? The kitchen cabinets.

One by one, she loudly swung them open, brashly and uncaringly. From the first one, she slammed down a mug, then from the second, she plopped a tea bag inside it… and the third, she apparently just did it for the hell of it.

"Ria…" I said, speaking up. But at once, I felt a tight squeeze on my leg, and Irene beside me was fervently shaking her head. Not that it mattered anyway if she did anyway…

Ria had just simply ignored me and carried on.

I could hear her open a bottle, and then promptly came the sound of rushing water. She took a spoon from a drawer and giving as much consideration as she did with everything else, Ria began to swirl and mix… wet splatters hitting the floor like a rainfall of brown sludge.

Finally, seemingly finished making her drink, Ria slowly strode toward us, barren crimson eyes flicking back and forth between us… then to the only lone sofa available, she quietly took a seat and took a small sip of her tea.

Irene still had a firm grip on my thigh, and it had only gotten tighter as the seconds passed. She looked tense… but in the blatant way one does when pretending not to be.

Ria noticed it too, snorting a little… making small rippling waves on the surface of her drink.

"A stranger, am I?" Ria said, her first words after so long, and it was just as disconcerting as I expected it. "I thought you'd be a bit more happy to see me."

She looked toward me briefly, smirking, as if sharing some sort of inside joke with me, but all I felt right then was the compelling urge to look away that I had to fight to resist.

"Are you?" Irene answered back.

"You want me to tell you how I feel?" she snorted again. "And here little ol' me was thinking my feelings weren't worth two shits to begin with," she took another sip, rolling her eyes mirthfully. "Silly me…"

I couldn't bear it. I had to say something.

"Ria, I - "

"Yes, you," her head whipped back directly at me, and to me, she seemed to almost blaze fiercer, the drink in her hands, suddenly bubbling and boiling a strong bitter smell. "Your turn. Are my feelings worth anything to you?"

"Look…"

"Yes? No?" She interjected. "Are they? Aren't they? God, everything has to be a moral dilemma with you, don't they?"

"Could you just hear us out?"

"Why do you all keep asking questions as if I got a choice in the matter?" Ria asked, her eyes wide in demand. "I'm already awake, I'm right here… why are you still asking? Do what you want, go on."

"Ria…"

"No, don't 'Ria' me now, you'll just piss me off even more," she muttered rapidly, the surface of her mug now enveloped in a dark sooting black. "You don't need to worry about me. I don't need your consideration, believe me."

And then there was that smile again… a kindly expression from so long ago… now so utterly unrecognizable.

"Sorry, was that too mean?" She asked, batting her eyes sweetly at me. "Ah, just a bit grumpy. I mean… I did just wake up, after all."

Ria chuckled, taking a sip, her cup of tea all but evaporated.

"Can you really blame me?"

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