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“So? Do you like it?”
Chosen looked up at the two-story building in front of him. It was built in an odd way, the floors stacked in a not-straight way on top of each other. It seemed like a pretty spacious house, located a few miles away from the nearest city, surrounded by the forest and also not too far from the cliffside.
He nodded. “It's nice,” he said. “How did you find it?”
Dark smiled. “I wanted a surprise for you, Cho! It won't be a good present if you bother yourself with unnecessary details.” He gave him a wink, the meaning of which he feared he knew.
Chosen furrowed his eyebrows, but quickly shook his head. It was better not to think about it too much. At least they now had a roof over their heads.
“Wanna see the inside?” Dark bounced on the balls of his feet, the pride apparent on his face. Chosen nodded.
On the inside, the house was pretty plainly decorated, without any extravagant materials. The walls, painted in warm colors, had pictures of natural landscapes, which he found endearing. A big door opened to the backyard with a view of the forest, colorful flowers sprinkled among tall grass. The house had two bedrooms, one at the ground and one at the smaller top floor.
Dark ran up the stairs to the top floor. “Top floor is mine!” he exclaimed. He narrowed his eyes at Chosen, clearly determined to fight for his right on the upper part of the house.
“Yeah, alright,” Chosen shrugged after a few seconds of silence. Dark whooped and ran up the rest of the stairs.
The top floor had a balcony. A big balcony connected to the main bedroom, leaving plenty of sunlight to enter.
“I don’t want the doors, I need the space for my projects.” Dark mused to himself as he paced around the room. “The whole place needs some rearrangements but –he plucked the balcony door out of its hinges– nothing that can’t be done. C’mon tell me I’m awesome!” he said, turning to Chosen.
“I’m not doing that.”
“I found this awesome place, therefore I’m awesome. Flawless logic, admit it.” He brought his face closer to Chosen with a smug look.
The older rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. His gaze fell on a folded up ladder underneath a trapdoor on the ceiling. “Hey,” he called out to his brother. “What's in there?” he said pointing at the trapdoor.
“Eh, it's just some attic with old stuff. Nothing interesting. I'll get rid of them sometime,” Dark replied, waving his hand dismissively.
Chosen reached for the ladder, unfolding it. He hummed softly to himself, as he did when in thought.
Dark tilted his head at him, but then shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat,” he said, heading downstairs.
Chosen peeked his head inside the attic. It was just as Dark had said, dimly lit, filled with old furniture and some dusty boxes lying around that hadn't been opened in years. He opened the first box he grabbed. It was filled to the brim with books of all kinds. From thick formal-looking hardbacks, to small novellas with colorful frontpages. He picked up a book at random and flipped through the pages. He started reading.
It claimed to be some fantasy book, probably copied from some human website. And Chosen found he couldn't stop reading. One book turned to two, turned to three, turned to many.
So many different stories with so many different characters in so many different worlds. But there was one thing many of them had in common.
A boy from an isolated kingdom given a great purpose by some otherworldly entity.
A group of friends with unknown power tasked to protect everyone from the forces of evil.
A girl having to endure every hardship for the sake of an ancient prophecy.
Other Chosen Ones in different worlds, facing all the neverending difficulties just because someone else said they should. Because someone decided they should be the ones to suffer, the ones to fight.
Because of fate's cruel game.
Oh, how he wished he didn't get it.
Other Chosen Ones, given a great power. A power they should use to fight someone the universe decided they should. They had a purpose.
A purpose.
How did it feel to know exactly where you're heading? How did it feel to not have to wonder if your suffering had come to an end? Was it reassuring, knowing that the end of it will come? Or was it worrying, to know the struggles coming your way? How did it feel to have a purpose, a target you're fighting for?
Was Chosen's purpose his freedom? He got that, sure. He has his freedom now. Did this mean his story is told? Then what was he fighting for?
Fighting for his life, then for his freedom, then for his brother. Sleeping with both eyes open because he never knew when his next battle would come. That's just what life has always been.
What was he made for if not that?
Books were of heroes that were special, heroes with a story worth telling. Of heroes that were good, virtuous and brave. Of heroes that put the better of others above themselves. But what if they didn't want to be heroes in the first place? What if they had dreams of living simple lives, of having families, of achieving some of life's more trivial goals? What if they waved a finger on fate’s face, dismissed destiny’s call and did their own thing? What if they were free to make their own choices?
Oh, how nice would it be, to be someone simple. How nice would it be, if the universe were kind.
There is a clear distinction between what's evil and what's good, in most stories at least. They aren't just intertwined. Black and white. Good people fight evil ones for the sake of the world. Good people care to save others while bad ones care to kill and destroy. But who's to say who's who?
He would bet the villains also thought they did the right thing. And he would bet the heroes weren't always the virtuous archetypes. He would bet the gray could, too, be overpowering. Maybe in another world, one where they weren't called to fight, they could even be on good terms.
Life would be better if everything was that simple.
Sometime, books reach an end. Heroes get their merry closure. They get friends, partners, fame, happiness. Their struggling wasn't for nothing.
Why did he feel that his story still had many pages left?
Chosen closed the last of the books in the box with trembling hands (Why were his hands shaking like that?). The view from the attic's window was dark, informing him that it was nighttime. He had no energy to go back downstairs right now, instead preferring to just lay there in silence. He made a small flame in his hand, observing its unpredictable yet soothing movements. He wouldn't think twice about trading this fire for just a chance at a life without worries.
The Chosen One. The inevitable hero of a story, due to some kind of destiny, power or lineage. A character who is predestined to save the world or complete some other heroic accomplishment.
What even was he chosen for? Why did he name him that?
Oh, he knew why. From his very first breath, he knew exactly what his purpose was. But the mere thought of the truth made his stomach turn. But is it really that selfish to want to imagine some kind of heroic destiny for himself?
There was no fate for him. It was all people's actions that kept on haunting him.
Correction, one person’s actions.
He decided he'd much rather have to fight ancient monsters.
With a long sigh, he carefully packed the books back in their box. He reluctantly checked the other boxes, only to find out they were also full of books, of various different genres. Maybe some other time. Now, he just felt exhausted.
He found Dark in his room, installing some cables and machines he’d probably gotten from the city during the time he was in the attic.
“There you are! I thought you died in there,” he teased.
“I found some books,” Chosen said, ignoring his brother's comments.
“Huh. Didn't think you'd like those things.”
“Why not? They're interesting.”
“Because they're useless! We have the technology and the internet has everything we need,” the younger argued, raising his voice.
Chosen shook his head. “Whatever, just don't throw them away,” he said.
“M’kay,” he mumbled, going back to his gadgets.
The only thing Chosen wanted now was to go lie in his bed. The thoughts felt to overwhelmingly swirl around in his mind. Simultaneously, he felt like his worldview had both been entirely challenged and confirmed at the same time. Just what had those books done to him?
Because of fate’s cruel game.
What if they were free to make their own choices?
“Hey, Dark?”
“Hm?” the other hummed, not taking his eyes from the screen he was installing.
“I'm glad we're friends.”
Dark turned around surprised and tilted his head in confusion. He did not, however, question it, only nodding with a small smile. “Yeah, me too.”