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The door closes behind them with a creak.
With the world closed around them, the problem weighing down their shoulders now are only their own. Not the swords' nor the admins'.
The chosen hero let out the breath they didn't know they were holding. The door creaked slightly when they leaned back, tension releasing from their muscles as they relaxed.
They are alone now.
A sigh left their lips.
Player drag their gloved hand down their face, trying to rub off the exhaustion etched on to their skin. The tiresome eyes begin to scan their current surrounding.
The bathroom looks.. homey. It feels like the right word for it.
There is a shower head above a stool, a toilet, and a sink. Just like any typical bathroom look. Though there's a few posters plastered on the wall along with plants hanging from the ceiling. It's not theirs, but it will do.
Mayor Thaniyel is kind enough to let them take a shower in his house when they asked, and they don't know exactly how they're going to pay back.
After their journey in the desert and retrieving the firebrand, they feel like they should take a breather for once. Not to mention their skin feel sticky from all the sweat because of the hot weather. They couldn't come in the HQ smelling like fried desert sand and humiliated themself infront of Shedletsky after all.
They had always preferred to stay in Turitopolis, especially the inn. Mostly because of the warm temperature that doesn't immediately boil them alive, the lively residents and free fruits, but also because they have somebody to check up on.
Which is why they took a detour here in the first place.
Griefer and Mayor Thaniyel are talking somewhere in the house. Not sure about what, but it's not their problem to pry on. The two needed it after the whole Venomshank incident a few days ago.
But hey, at least they got a new call card. They appreciate every little help they can get after being used to fight alone.
Player toss their backpack against the door with a thud. The sheathed sword carefully placed down beside it while they took off the holster. Their hand tremble when they unbuckle it.
The sweat soaked shirt was taken off easily— their body shivered when the air met their bare skin —Tossed somewhere with the rest of their adventuring equipment.
Unfortunately they don't have any clothes other than the one they wore. The jacket they brought along is a gift from Mayor Monty, and the gloves they wore are also not theirs.
It wasn't their fault they didn't think they will be sent to the past a month ago (or 15 years from now?). But now there's no reason to bitch and moan about something that had already passed. They only have one road forward.
The hero stood before the mirror. The reflection stares back with the same blank expression. No emotions behind those dark eyes. Just silent observation. (And judgment)
The light in their eyes are absent. The dark-ish eyebags under them had also gotten worse (when is the last time they have truly slept?). Their hair is disheveled, probably even matted. Chapped lips, and scars littered their skin from all the battles won by their blade.
Their face is unfamiliar, even to the one who bear it.
Another breath left their lungs as they rubbed their eyes. Another futile attempt to erase the exhaustion.
The coarse leather rub against their skin. Player paused. Oh, they still wore them?
It's been a while since the last time they took them off, as much as the gloves make them comfortable, they probably should. (Though they're unsure if seeing what's underneath is worth it)
Player took the gloves off slowly (hesitantly). Their thumb slid under before peeling off the leather to reveal the scarred skin underneath.
Their hands shook.
'Fuck... Its worse than last time..' Player cursed under their breath.
The numbness had spread from their fingers to nearly their wrist. Their fingertips are discolored from how much they used the Icedagger. Now pale white from the biting cold.
Not to mention their palm, caloused from handling the sword. There are dark patches exactly where they held the swords. As if the handle burns through the gloves and etched itself on to the skin. The throbbing pain bit even harder now the pressure is gone.
They knew that the SFOTH swords give undesireable side effects upon their welders. They saw it on the late king and Griefer himself. On the way the half of Cruel King body is covered with ice spikes and became a pile of snow, the bubonic plant Griefer became, and the voices.
But they didn't think they would bare their fangs to them too. (They are the chosen one, right? They're supposed to be different. They are supposed to be a difference. )
The gloves itself was a gift from Cruel King who experience the worst of the side effect. It helped with the pain, but their skin was already scarred underneath.
No. Scarred is no longer the right word to describe it.. Maybe damaged? Disfigured? Worn out?
The dull aches settling beneath their skin, throbbing painfully along their pulse. Rubbing the aching joints barely do anything to neutralize the pain permanently, but it give them just enough respite from them.
What worse is that they can not heal these injuries. No bandages, no healing items, and no medicine can heal the wounds left by the swords. It was as if the swords itself wanted to leave their marks on them. (To brand them)
Player breathe in. The silence is deafening. The sounds they have grown used to, crickets, people and livestock chattering, are completely absent. The only thing they hear is their own breaths and faint thumping sound of their heartbeat. (Right. They still have those.)
A calloused hand opened the faucet.
Player begin to clean their hands, the cracked fingernail scratching away the grimes on their palm. Their eyes avoiding to look into the mirror and focuses on their hands instead.
The water is chilling as it hit their skin. Numbing their aching hands. The rippling sound blurred the convoluted thoughts trying to engulf their mind. Making them a distant noise just barely out of reach.
For now they are safe.
"You killed them."
Or maybe not.
Player continue to wash their hands. Ignoring how their own voice calling for them. It's just another hallucination trying to get under their skin. It would go away... eventually.
"You knew all along didn't you?"
The tone of the voice turns mocking. Player chose to ignore it still
"You are aware youre not the hero in this story as much as you think you were."
They ignored it again, they ignored the way their brows furrow at the insult. They knew that already. (As much as they try to justify it all as self defense, was it really?)
(They have more blood on their hands than they ever does)
"Do you ever feel guilty for it? For them?"
The voice goes on. Its tone accusatory. Player's figure warped in the mirror like water, rippling as it continue to ask them questions.
"For the people you've doomed? For the people you killed?"
Player's hands rest on the countertop. Ignoring the relentless throb beneath in their skin. The water still flowing down from the faucet, slowly filling up the sink. But their eyes not focusing to any of it.
It laughs. Their eyes in the mirror staring dagger into the top of their head. "How am I kidding, of course you were."
"But tell me, do you think any tears will bring back the lives you killed?"
'There is no undoing of what has been done.' Player thought, their hands gripping the marble edge tight. Water flowing over the sink down down to the floor.
'The dog who weeps after it kills is no better than the dog who doesn't.'
"Your guilt does not purify you, hero." The voice continue their train of thought. Somehow, the words stings more than Venomshank side effect ever did.
"You can't even weeps for the people you've killed." the edges of the mirror melting down the walls. Reaching, pleading. "Whose to say if you dont actually feel guilty of it?"
The water keeps on running.
"Heh.." it scoffed. Their reflection grinning ear to ear as it lean forward. The boundary between what's real and what's a reflection blurred until they could practically feel their own breath brushing their face.
"You really are a dog, you know?"
Player clench their fist, nails digging into the skin of their palm. Crimson drips down the water pooling around their knees.
"Obidient, naive little thing that follows only their master commands. Unable to form their own thoughts."
They lift their head.
"No wonder why you killed him. Leading him up that montain, like a dog herding a livestock to be slaughtered."
The mirror breaks before they could reply.
Griefer knocks on the bathroom door. His foot taps on the wooden floorboards as he wait for the hero to answer his call. Mayor Thaniyel nearly forgotten to give Player towels during their father-and-son conversation so Griefer have come to save the day.
He scratched the back of his neck, the leaves rustled as he did. The new appendages are still unfamiliar and awfully itchy on his skin but he will get used to it, he supposed. He deserved it.
The door suddenly clicked open, bringing Griefer back to the present. His tail twitches as he attempt to act nonchalant. Coughing then offering the towel with his left hand, the other rest on his hip.
He scoffed, "H3Y PUNK, POPS FORG0T TO GIV3 YOU TH3SE."
But the moment the door opens though, Griefer hesitated. His grip falter slightly.
The door barely open, only letting him to see Player's head and upper body in between and not the bathroom behind them. Though the lack of lighting suggest they've been in the dark for a while. But thats not the point, the point is Player looked... off. Not that they don't always look off-putting from the moment they met, the accessories they wear always looked out of time, but their expression make it seem like its hiding something.
"4RE YOU— OK4Y?" He asked, his voice stuttered in the middle of the sentence. Player didn't answer.
"YOU KNOW, 1F YOU'R3 NOT US3D TO THE SQUAT TO1LET YOU COULD JUST TELL M3 HAHA.. HA..." he trail off when Player simply stare at him and not laughing along, seemingly lost in thought. Now the joke taste bad on his own tongue.
He know the hero is quiet most of the time but its not the usual quietness.
"BUT SERI0USLY 4RE YOU OK4Y PUNK?" He ask again.
Player took a second but finally speak, "Im fine."
Griefer doubt that answer.
"4RE YOU SUR3? IF Y0U HAVE ANYTHING 1N M1ND YOU C4N ALWAYS TELL ME—"
"I said im fine." They snapped and Griefer took a step back. Their eyes soften, looking away in shame, "im- sorry."
Griefer sighs, waving his hand, "HEY T4KE IT EASY, MAN. I WILL BE GRUMPY 1F I HAVE T0 DEAL W1TH ADMINS BULLSHIT ON D4ILY BAS1S TOO."
they both stay quiet for a moment longer.
"...WANN4 TALK ABOUT 1T?" Player shook their head immediately. "4LRIGHT TH3N."
Griefer finally handed them the clean towels, they took it with their left hand. With nothing to hold, he stood awkwardly in the dining room, scratching his neck again. "1 WON'T BOTH3R YOU ANYM0R3 BUT 1 W1LL BE STAYING IN MY R00M."
he try to smile, the fangs make it harder for it to come as not threatening though. "IF Y0U NEED ANYTH1NG, JUST C4LL ME UP, ALRIGHT?"
The door closes on him and Griefer let out a breath. Perhaps he act too much again? He really should get his tone checked.
After a moment and another, Griefer finally walks away. Leaving the hero alone with their thoughts
Player fell to their knees behind the closed door. Their knuckles throb, stings with pain from the glass digging into their skin. Their body trembles, blood seeping into the towel.
"Fuck."
"Player," they froze, "you are leaving, already?"
Mayor Thaniyel stand not so far from them. A cane in hand while his other hold the front of his shawl. The lighting make him seem older.
Player stood rigidly, barely turning back. The brim of their cap shadow their face.
"Yes. Shedletsky called me." The lie spill out of their mouth smoothly.
He blinks, "Really? The admin doesn't give you any break, huh?"
They stayed silent, though their hand tremble slightly before they forced them still.
Mayor Thaniyel speak again, softer. His fingers trace the frayed edge of the fabric drape over his shoulders. "..I suppose before you leave I just have one thing to say,"
"Thank you again. For saving my son." He smile, lowering his head in a bow, "If it wasn't because of you, I.. I dont know what I would do."
His grip the shawl tighter, "Brad is the only one I have left. I fear if I lost him.. I might done things I shouldn't."
Player opens their mouth, their reply come a fraction slower.
"Its not a problem, Mayor Thaniyel."
Mayor Thaniyel paused after a moment, lifting his head. "Oh, im sorry Shedletsky is waiting for you, isnt he?"
"Go on then. Don't let me keep you for far longer." He rest both of his hands on the cane, tilting his head slightly, "The hero needs to save the day, right?"
They blinks. Right, yeah. Shedletsky. How could they forget?
"Y- yeah. Of course." They tip their cap slightly. "Good bye, Mayor."
"See you."
Player steps out the house, making their way back to Plainstown. The warm air feel suffocating, the chattering are deafening. A hand of bananas fell off of a tree but they walk pass it.
Players had always preferred to stay in Turitopolis. But just for the night, they chose to stay in Roadtown