Again

Chilly air and falling leaves were the external confirmation of what my internal clock told me: months had passed. They were good months. Mayliam and I had ventured deeper into this forest and avoiding civilization, until we found a clearing several days further out. We had settled down there, making it a relatively permanent base. Mayliam had taught me Common, and I had taught her English, though only through the context of spellcasting.

We each had our own little hut now, primal dwellings in which to change, wash, sleep, and have privacy. Mayliam had suggested that we only needed one building, but the look I gave her in response caused her to cough up her ulterior motive of getting closer to me. We certainly were closer now, but certainly not as close as she would like. Somehow, spending months just her and me had deepened her crush on me and solidified my lack of.

The clearing we had commandeered was trampled and well lived in now. I sat over a cookfire between our huts, turning Mayliam's catch on a spit as she watched wide-eyed.

"You still behave like a child." I noted, smiling slyly.

She glared at me. "And you still treat me like one. We're only a few years apart."

"A few years is a quarter of your lifespan and a fifth of mine. Time is a relative matter. That, if nothing else, is what I've learned from my unique abilities."

"If it's relative, then--"

I cut her off. "Isn't that right, man in the shadows?"

A gentle breeze met my challenge.

"Let me try again, crimson-haired man with a dappled cloak and golden broach. Come out, or I will kill you where you hide."

Clearly reluctant, the man who matched my description emerged, wearing his hood up and a mask over the lower half of his face.

"Your senses are incredible," he commented, though his black eyes gave no emotion.

"Let's just say I have a good sense of what is going on around me."

"That indeed seems clear."

"So, visitor, what brings you to this forgotten edge of the forest?"

"I smelled something rather divine. To my surprise, it was a man's cooking. Why does this man not leave feminine arts to the females?"

"Why indeed. Though, I'm sure no smell could waft more than an hour's journey for a normal person."

"No," the stranger agreed, "I also happen to be looking for a pair of fugitives. A man with brown hair and a woman with blue. You wouldn't happen to know them, would you?" Something glinted in his eye. Greed? Knowledge?

"A man can only play coy for so long. Most men use it to gain an advantage. Some crimson-haired idiots use it to lose the advantage."

"So it seems." He smirked.

Black streaks crossed my vision. "Arrows," I shouted.

"Goddess of Air," Mayliam chanted, "Create a barri--"

She was interrupted with a sick thunk sound. I turned to her. An arrow had found its way into her back. As I stood in shock, another three finished her.

"Not so omnipotent, are we, Scarred?"

I vaulted my cook fire to kneel by Mayliam. The collection of wounds were clearly placed in lethal locations. Despite that, I undid each of the wounds simultaneously. She remained limp.

"I ain't never seen a healing technique like that." Crimson-hair noted.

"Nor will you again." I rose, extending my arms, palms up. "God of Earth, create bolts of stone, and send them at my targets."

Were my rage not overflowing like so, the amount of mana firing four stone bullets cost would have staggered me. Stones flew from my fingers, and four exclamations of pain came from the trees.

"Now it's just you." I said, staring Crimson down.

He seemed cowed, and shrunk visibly, unable to speak.

"Gods of fire and stone, form two swords in my hands to kill my enemy."

The incantation echoed, then rebounded into my still-outstretched hands. Black stone blades traced by red magma appeared. Then I charged.

The man scrambled to run, but I was faster, breaking his legs with a swing of my left stone-fire blade.

Then I pummeled him. Left, right, left, right. I repeated far past the point that I realized I was smashing soil and roots rather than flesh and bone.

I finally released the blades, which faded to ash, and turned away from the red puddle. I dragged myself back to Mayliam.

"I protected you." I whispered.

"Yes," she replied, but her lips did not move, "you did protect me. And when the time came, you avenged me, even if it was a bit too brutal."

"This is a bad time for a joke, Mayliam."

"I know of one person who would joke in their meeting with the gods, and I'm not them."

"What are you even saying?" tears slid down my cheeks.

"Thank you for letting me be a part of your life for the past four months. I know you try to hide how you feel, but so do I. That's why I'm glad I was able to meet the God of futures, the God of pasts, the God of Hope, and most importantly, the God who Cares."

"I'm no God."

"You're the closest my - our - world has."

"That's crazy. I'm just a suicidal idiot who accidentally walked into another world and just murdered a man."

"I can see so much now," she said, suddenly sounding more distant, "the other fruits. The branches. Father. I can go home now."

And I never heard another word from Mayliam, the blue-haired villager-turned-traveler who survived the fall of Farsfield.

I collapsed to my knees, and sobbed.