Late at night.
A woman—with a cloak draped over her entire body and a hood covering her head—walked through the dark and eerie forest, unseen by the beasts and monsters that roamed between the trees. With light and steady steps, she continued walking past the trees until she finally arrived at her destination, a wide and open meadow, where she spotted an old, run-down cabin, located directly in the middle.
Her eyes lingered on the cabin for a while, when she noticed the flickering lights inside—a sign that the cabin's owner was still awake. The woman took a step forward, but just as she did, a strong gust of wind suddenly blew, blowing off her hood, revealing her pristine—almost angelic—face and making her hair, which was white as snow, flow with the wind, revealing her long pointed ears.
Startled, she urgently reached for her hood and quickly draped it over her head. She then scanned her surroundings, checking to see if there was anyone nearby, if anyone that had seen her face—
When she suddenly heard it.
A roar.
She heard a person's furious roar from inside the cabin, causing her to flinch. It was loud, so loud that even her elven ears—which were known to have extremely high tolerance for high decibels—felt stinging pain just from listening to it.
"A Banshee?" she asked herself. "But that was a man's voice…."
Curious as to what the matter was, she decided to continue walking towards the cabin, but something felt off. If earlier in the forest she could feel the strong life force of her Goddess, Gaia, here in the meadows, she felt nothing but the presence of death.
She steeled her heart and pressed on. Her pride simply wouldn't allow her to retreat. As the previous Queen of the Elven Kingdom, she refused to turn away just because of a mere foul stench.
And so, she slowly made her way to the cabin's entrance, a rusty old door that looked like it was about to break down at any moment. Her hands were just about to grasp the handle when, suddenly, she heard another roar—this one even louder than the last.
But now that she was nearer, she noticed how the roar seemed to be born not out of unbridled rage, but simply out of frustration.
This time, curiosity finally got the better of her as she hastily opened the door—only for her eyes to immediately grow wide. The thick scent of blood lingered in the air, making her unconsciously scrunch up her nose.
The walls were dyed in red, and all types of weapons—from swords, bows, axes, and spears—were littered on the floor. Scattered everywhere, too, were piles of canvases. Some of them were torn apart, while others were crushed, burned, or broken into multiple pieces…
And in the middle of all this was a man wearing blood-red armor, sitting on a stool and facing a canvas, with a paintbrush in his hand.
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-
His hands shook.
As his hand holding the paintbrush reached the canvas, it trembled uncontrollably, frustrating him greatly. Soft whispers, whispers of the countless souls that he had reaped over the long years of his life rang into his ears, shackling him, binding him, and preventing him from doing anything that didn't lead to the end of someone's life…
But he pressed on. He gritted his teeth, mustering all the strength he could, and attempted to reach for the canvas. It took a while, but after a few more seconds of intense struggle, he finally succeeded, and made contact with the canvas. Now, all he needed to do was make one clean stroke.
And so, he tried. From top to bottom, he moved his brush, trying to paint a curved line—a stem for the flower he wanted to paint. But just as he was about to finish it, his hand shook once more, much stronger than before, as the endless howls of pain and agony continued to gnaw on his soul, forcing him to drop his brush on the cold, wooden floor.
"DAMN IT..!"
He cursed, panting. He stared at the canvas in front of him with a look of resignation as he observed all of his previous failed attempts around him. He was frustrated. He was growing mad. Too much time had already passed, and he still couldn't accomplish this simple task.
With bloodshot eyes, he looked at his hands, covered in blood and dirt from all of the battles he fought, from the countless lives he had ended, and sighed. He then stood up, stretched his hands, and turned to the door—
So he could finally greet his unwelcome guest.
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-
Shock.
That was all she felt.
She wasn't shocked by the scent of blood, however, or the ever-increasing presence of death. No, she was shocked simply because of what she was seeing.
The man in blood-red armor—the strongest warrior on the continent, the slayer of dragons and giants, the person who many knew as the mortal who couldn't die—was trying to paint.
And so, with wide eyes, she continued to stare at what was in front of her: at The Immortal cursing in frustration as he let go of his brush. Even when she saw him stand up and face her, she continued to stand there in complete shock, unsure of what she should do.
But then, the unimaginable happened. The Immortal reached for his helmet and took it off, revealing the youthful face of a man who seemed to be in his late teens. The rest of his armor then disappeared, turning into crimson mist—getting carried by the cool breeze—revealing The Immortal's lean but muscular body. He then called out to her,
"Ellie."
Hearing her familliar name, the woman—Ellie—finally snapped out of her shock and managed to regain her composure. She pulled back her hood, unveiling her strikingly beautiful face once more. And while glaring at the man in front of her, she replied,
"It's Elena, James. E. Le. Na."
James simply rolled his eyes at her cold reply, however, and shrugged as he sat back down on his stool.
"Aye, Elena… So why are you here?"
Elena turned and closed the door behind her and said in response,
"You're blunt as ever, James. Shouldn't you at least pretend you're glad to see me?"
James glared, "Both of us know very well that's impossible."
"I guess…" she sighed.
Now facing each other, Elena slowly made her way to James and hummed along the way. The ground near James then shook for a while, and right after, roots sprouted out, intertwining with each other, forming a little stool that matched James' own. And without any hesitation, Elena sat down on the stool she just made, making herself comfy as she made eye contact with him.
"Speak. What do you want?"
James glared once more as he said so. Elena didn't feel threatened, however, and instead of replying, she turned her head to the canvas James was painting on. She spotted multiple crude strokes on it, showing just how hard the artist was trying to succeed. But it seemed like he didn't—or more like he couldn't—as she failed to spot a single proper stroke on the—
"Speak."
Her train of thought was disturbed when she suddenly felt overwhelming bloodlust in front of her, dyeing her surroundings in red mist. The scent of death that she had been smelling for a while now also grew stronger, making her sweat profusely, as an instinctive, primal fear slowly dowsed her entire body. With her spine growing cold, she finally took her eyes away from the canvas and looked at the being in front of her.
James Lazarus, The Immortal.
She almost forgot how violent and bloodthirsty this man in front of her was. And so, shaking herself to wave off the fear she felt, she quickly made eye contact with James and spoke urgently.
"The Elders have requested your assistance in protecting the World Tree."
James clicked his tongue, hearing this.
Elena was then startled when he suddenly stood up and faced the back wall of the cabin. She couldn't really see the expression James was making, but based on the ever-growing bloodlust she was feeling, she could tell he was pretty displeased by the request. She then looked down at his hands and noticed them shaking—but unlike last time, it seemed to stem from his overwhelming rage and not—
"Fine."
James said in a low voice, and immediately after, like it had all been a lie, the raging bloodlust he was emitting suddenly disappeared, making Elena release the breath she didn't know she was holding. James then sighed and faced Elena. His eyes lingered on her for a moment—making her feel uncomfortable—but he just sighed and sat back down on his stool and faced her once more.
"And so? Why did those geezers send the previous Queen of the Elven Kingdom herself just to deliver that simple message?" James asked.
"Because I was the only one that could find you. And the only person you wouldn't kill instantly when—" Elena then glanced back at the door behind her. "—opening that door."
"I guess you're right." He grunted.
Now that the situation had calmed down a bit, Elena finally decided to take a good look at the man in front of her.
At James Lazarus.
At the human that was cursed with immortality, forever living a life of endless battles, wars, and death. Which was ironic, she thought. A mortal, blessed by the Goddess of Life, yet was only able to thrive and succeed when in the presence of Death. However, It was precisely because of this that she couldn't help but ask,
"Since when have you taken an interest in art?"
He froze.
He half expected her to ask that question, though he would have preferred it more if she didn't. Pausing, James stayed still as he wondered how he should respond to this… ally.. of his…
And then, he grinned. He raised his hand to his side, where a small rip in space formed. He then pushed his hand through it and pulled out a bottle of wine and a single chalice—which was engraved with ancient, cryptic symbols.
He then poured some wine into the chalice and offered it to Ellie, but she only shook her head in response, rejecting the drink.
James stared at the air for a good while and thought if it'd be a good idea to tell her. He thought of Ellie, the person he once loved, the only person he knew that had managed to live for this long—the only person that could match his infinite lifespan…
Sighing, James made up his mind, before saying…
"A little girl once asked me a question."
"Hey, mister! Can you paint a little flower for me?"
"She was a cheeky little brat…"
"Eh? You can't? But my father said you could do anything!"
"She laughed at me when I said I couldn't…"
"I guess there are some things even mister can't do."
"It infuriated me. To think a brat like that had the audacity to talk to me that way... but then──"
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-
──the castle shook.
The stone floor beneath them trembled, which was then followed by the distant cries of men screaming from outside. James approached a nearby window to see what was going on and was shocked by what laid in front of him.
A sea of flames.
The castle grounds burned in a fiery inferno, leaving nothing but ashes behind.
A powerful roar thundered from above, prompting him to look up—and there, he saw it, something he never thought he'd ever lay his eyes on again: a majestic dragon, its white scales gleaming, soaring through the sky with its three pairs of wings unfurled.
"Aura."
James glared as he called out its name, bringing out his spear and holding it in his hand. He was about to jump out the window and face the dragon when──
"M-Mister…?"
──he suddenly heard a little girl's voice behind him.
He turned back, only to see the frightened face of the five-year-old girl he was talking to earlier. He cursed silently under his helm. The girl was shaking in fear with tears in her eyes. James really wanted to help her calm down, but he simply didn't know how to.
Hearing the ever-increasing screams of men and the dragon's roar outside, he cursed silently, took his helmet off, knelt, and stared the little girl in the eyes, then gently said,
"Princess Natalia." He coughed and continued. "Everything's going to be fine. This mister just needs to go out there and beat the bad guys, alright? So just stay here and wait for me to come back."
Hearing his words, Princess Natalia's nervous face eased a little. She wiped the tears from her eyes and asked,
"You promise?"
"I promise."
James replied, then turned to face the window once more. He put his helm back on and glanced at the little princess behind him.
"I'll be back in a minute."
He said one last time before jumping out the window.
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-
The heavens flashed.
A beam of white light streaked through the clouds and made direct contact with the ground, destroying it and everything in the surroundings. The sky then flashed once more, but this time, it was dyed with an intense crimson color.
High above, where a fierce battle raged, something strange was unfolding. A man wearing blood-red armor was holding on for dear life as he strengthened his grip on the dragon's scales. Aura—injured and battered—noticing this, folded her wings and dived straight toward the ground, desperate to end this battle with James. And as they began descending at a rapid pace, James strengthened his grip even more, trying his best not to fall off. And then──
"Fuck."
──they crashed.
James lost his grip on the dragon's scales and rolled on the ground for a while, hitting every building along the way. He stood up immediately, his right hand tightly gripping his spear. He could feel the ground caving in from the crash and the earth cracking under his feet.
He shook his head to clear his mind and immediately ran off to where the dragon landed. And there, he saw it.
Aura, the White Dragon, representing purity and virtue, lying weakly on the ground.
Most of her scales had been ripped off, and what remained were now dyed gold—the color of her blood. James approached the dragon slowly, his spear pointed directly at it. His helm then disappeared in a form of red mist, revealing his face. He was about to ask the dragon a question when──
"Mister!"
──he suddenly heard a voice behind him.
James turned his back, only to find Princess Natalia, escorted by an entourage of knights, running toward him. His mind blanked out for a while before he immediately regained his composure and yelled,
"Princess!"
"Mister! You're safe!" Princess Natalia exclaimed in response.
"No, Princess! It's dangerous here!"
James tried to warn them of the danger they were in, but it was too late. Aura, noticing James' distracted state, immediately prepared a one last desperate attack, an attack that dragons were famously known for.
Dragon Breath.
White flames spewed out of her mouth, heading directly toward James.
Unguarded and unprepared, James took the full brunt of the flames. He felt his armor begin to melt, hot metal searing through to his skin. His flesh burned, and his blood boiled from the inside out. But he didn't care about the pain he was experiencing. Right now, there was only one thing on his mind──
"[ Aegis ]!"
──to protect the princess behind him.
A red, circular shield, engraved with ancient symbols, appeared on his arm. He raised his shield, blocking the flames, and then slowly marched toward the dragon. Now armed with a legendary artifact, James could feel the effect of the flames lessening. His armor reshaped back to its original form, and his burnt flesh regenerated instantly, bringing him back to his peak condition.
After a while, the flames finally died down, and what now lay in front of James was the dead body of what was once known as the most virtuous dragon in history.
"She must've used her own life force for that attack…"
James mumbled to himself as he continued to stare at what was in front of him. Then he heard a scream.
"Princess!"
Hearing the noise, he immediately snapped out of it and ran directly toward the princess. And then, he saw it.
Princess Natalia, with her hair burnt and skin scorched by the flames, being carried in the arms of a heavily injured knight, surrounded by the corpses of the men who protected her.
"Hand her over," James demanded.
Hearing the threatening tone in James' voice, the knight handed the princess to him without hesitation. Now in his arms, James examined the princess' body thoroughly and carefully, when he suddenly noticed her flickering eyelids. She seemed to struggle a little before finally opening her eyes. She looked at James with a warm expression, and in a weak voice, greeted him.
"Hello, mister…"
"Hello, Princess…"
The princess coughed, blood coming out of her mouth. She stared at the sky for a while before shifting her gaze to James.
"You kept your promise… you slayed the dragon…"
"I did…" James replied.
Smiling weakly, Natalie then asked,
"Mister… did you know? Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day my mother died…"
"Yes, I know…"
She smiled and continued,
"I was really young when she died… but I do remember her saying… that there was this flower she really liked… it was…"
"Natalies," James cut her off.
"You know it?" she asked, surprised.
"Yes. I used to give them to her when she was a child… but there aren't any left in this world…"
Hearing his words, Princess Natalia's eyes shone. She then asked, with a bit of excitement in her voice,
"So you know what it looks like?"
He nodded in response.
"I-I wanted… to paint Natalies for her… to lay it by her grave… b-but I didn't know what they looked like…"
She looked at James with a pleading look and a weak smile on her face. She asked,
"So, mister… will you paint one for me?"
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-
She sat there, listening to his tale.
When she decided to come visit him tonight, she expected to have another argument with him. About how the Elven Kingdom and the World Tree no longer concerned him anymore. About how he needed to fulfill his duty—his promise—that he made 200 years ago.
But no, nothing of the sort happened.
He accepted the request faster than she expected and told her a tale that happened a hundred years ago. She didn't know why he decided to do all of this, but it didn't really matter to her.
She was just glad.
That even after all the years of constant fighting and bringing death to his enemies…
"You're still human…"
Confused, James looked at Elena and asked,
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
Elena smiled.
"You're still human inside… and not a monster that everyone believes you to be… even after the trials you've faced… and the torture you've been through… you're still… human…"
Dumbfounded, James simply looked at Elena like she was a fool and laughed. He laughed boisterously, coughing and wheezing as he slapped his lap while pointing his finger at Elena.
Irritated, Elena's face crumpled into a frown. James just continued to laugh, however, causing Elena's irritation to rise up even more. She then stood up and slowly went for the door, ignoring the brute who was still laughing behind her. She considered firing a spell at his face to seal his mouth tight but decided against it, realizing that this might be the first time he has genuinely laughed in decades…
And so, under the sound of James' raucous laughter, Elena walked out of the cabin…
As she stood there outside, a strong, refreshing breeze passed by, followed by the early morning rays of sunlight—a sign of breaking dawn—greeted her, giving off a natural sense of tranquility and peace to this once blood filled meadow…
Taking a deep breath, Elena then thought to herself…
The scent of death finally became a little fainter.
As for James…
After laughing like a madman for quite a while, he picked up the paint brush once more—giggling as he did so—and faced his canvas…
And then, with a faint smile, he painted—not for a tragic memory of the past, but for a promise carved deep within his heart…