“So. You say you had the dream again. Do you want to describe it?”
A sigh escapes chapped lips, the young man perched on the armchair looking down at his hands. Fingers trace a set of old scars as he laughs.
“Same as always. War’s won. I…we won. There’s a whole ceremony, I’m saying goodbye to the other generals…it’s sad, but good, you know? And then they lead me away, back to the portal. To, you know, send me home.”
“And you become a kid again when you return, yes?” the therapist asks, not writing anything on the notepad. He’s heard this before, countless times.
“Yeah. They wanted me to have a childhood and all, after being the Chosen One sorta…took it away,” the young man said, shrugging.
“And you don’t remember liking being the Chosen One much, yes?”
“No. Needing to keep the fact I was human a secret was…well. It made things really stressful. That and all the fighting, obviously.”
The therapist nodded, looking at his notes.
“It was your imagination, Jerry. Can you repeat that after me?”
Jerry, the young man, kept his eyes on the floor before nodding.
Fingers traced the old scars. And he didn’t look up.
The path back to the apartment he’d managed to snag was a long and winding one, the sun starting to dip below the horizon as Jerry walked by autumnal trees. A small wood was situated between two developments, and Jerry would often cut through it if he needed to get anywhere quickly.
A car whizzed by, letting out a clipped honk that was consumed by the sound of the car moving past. Jerry rolled his eyes, stepping a bit more into the woods as he watched the car pass by. He’d never managed to get a driver’s license, and any attempts to get something he was more used to, like a horse, had been rejected.
You’re not used to horses. You didn’t even ride any in real life, you just imagined it.
Something fell over behind a tree, Jerry continuing to walk even as he felt his grip immediately tighten around a knife in his sweatjacket pocket. His therapist had said he shouldn’t carry weapons around, but his therapist hadn’t had weapon discipline drilled into his head b-
“Mr. Earnan, I think he heard us.”
Jerry could suddenly feel his heart thundering in his ribcage. That name, that…and was that a kid? What was a kid doing out here talking to…
An unbidden flash. A memory that Jerry had been trained to ignore, to disregard. The beginning of his delusions. Him, seven, stomping in fallen piles of leaves as the tall, impossibly thin and pallid Earnan had led him deeper in the woods, towards…
The Door.
Jerry didn’t know what he was doing. Instincts were taking over, his mind racing out of control as he turned and stumbled away, hoping he’d look drunk and not aware of them. After cresting a hill, hearing the footfalls of the boy trying to sneak away begin to fade, Jerry slid down the leaves, cutting through a familiar canyon and starting to head deeper into the woods, trying to keep a wide angle. He could taste copper in his mouth, a small trickle of blood slipping out as he had apparently bitten the inside of his cheek.
Leaves kicked up in a passing wind, light flickering through the canopy. Reality was slipping away, but even as he tried to ground himself, the ground itself seemed unstable.
Quietly, he arrived. The circle of old stones. The Gate he’d been led through, so many years ago, when Earnan, his wise mentor, had told him about his destiny. As he approached, that same familiar, impossible energy filled the air. They were talking. The kid couldn’t be more then seven years old, a blond kid still wearing a baseball uniform.
“So, the bad fairies…they’re going to try to the take over the woods? Why?”
“Because they wish to conquer your world after they defeat us,” Earnan said, voice calm and even. “Led by the dark fairy Sionn, they wish to conquer our lands. They have been held back at the River Maon for generations, but now…we fall to you. You are destined to defeat Sionn.”
Jerry sat, slumped against the stone, mouthing along with Earnan, the blood starting to rush to his ears. It…it was the same. The exact same words. How could that be? Sionn was dead! He killed him!
As the boy began to say something, Jerry didn’t hear, the rushing in his chest getting worse as Earnan stood, not knowing he was there.
It’s a script.
Jerry didn’t think more beyond that. The fairy in front of him had taught him to fight by instinct, because Sionn and his followers would not hesitate either.
A sick thud, like an axe slamming into wood. The knife was in Earnan’s side, as Jerry watched the boy scream in fear, falling backwards.
“Get the hell out of here,” Jerry hissed, looking at the boy. There was something in him, pleading, screaming, as he looked at the boy’s terrified face before he bolted through the trees.
As Earnan fell to the ground, gasping in pain, Jerry turned to look at the fey. His skin was starting to dark outwards from the cut, like a spiderweb of rot.
“Iron…” Earnan said, putting a hand to the injury and looking up at Jerry, the light hitting his face. “J…Jerry.”
Jerry glared down at him, any questions he demanded to speak caught in his throat as the eldery fairy let out a rattling cough. A laugh.
“Never forget a champion. You always were too damn clever for your own good.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“What do you think. Sionn rises once more. A new Chosen One is required to fight him.”
A kick to Earnan’s shoulder caused the fairy to let out a pained noise, Jerry’s heart continuing to race.
“…It’s a game. Isn’t it,” Jerry said, not a question on his lips. “I researched you, when I got home. The Fey. That…that whole war. It’s just a goddamn game.”
Earnan smiled serenely, looking up at the sky.
“A tournament. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. For you, for the other contestants. Even Sionn. You lived that war.”
The knife spun in Jerry’s shaking hands, barely caught by his fingers.
“Other contestants. Other…other kids. That’s what you mean, right?”
Earnan nodded, smiling at Jerry more as the young man just felt sick rise in throat.
“…The other generals. The other soldiers in my unit.”
“They were chosen, just like you. But only you managed to w-”
The elderly fey man didn’t manage to say anything else. A sharp decisive cut through his neck, and the next thing Jerry knew he was standing over nothing but a pile of rancid mulch.
The energy of the portal shook, then faded, as Jerry stared at the trees around him, spinning the knife around before pulling out his phone, sending out one, simple message on every social media app he could find.
Who remembers the battle of the Maon?
-Jerry, Sionn-Slayer
Strike The Horizon 