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There is a collection of gates cut into the trunks of the grove of trees behind Joel and Lizzie's home. Some of them lead to long-dead worlds, nothing but blackened craters and crumbling kingdoms, holding only fond memories of magic and mayhem. Others lead to worlds of pure creation, where the Universe lends its ear a little more closely to any player who reaches out to it, and impossible castles and the remains of wild challenges pepper the never-ending horizon.
And there are a few, Lizzie notes, as she passes through the grove today, that she does not recognize.
This one in front of her isn’t new, necessarily, but it’s certainly more recent than most of the other ones, though it hasn’t been used in a little while. When she rests her hand on the edge, the hum of energy tells her the world is still alive, if mostly dormant. It’s set a little ways back from the gate for Grian’s recently-ended game arena— Joel is there now, fooling around in hardcore with Grian and Scar, and his last message seemed to indicate she’d be invited to join in briefly, soon.
But for now, she’s on her own.
Why not, she thinks, and slips through the gate.
She finds herself in a forest, though the trees are thin in places; clearly other players have already been here to collect resources. The trees still standing rustle in greeting, and she runs her hand along their trunks absently as she passes by.
Lizzie decides to simply pick a direction and explore. As far as she can tell, there is no one else here, and she's bound to run into some form of civilization at some point— she can see the very top of at least one structure poking up from a nearby hill. She heads there first, bearing west. Eventually the trees begin thinning even further, and Lizzie spots the rise of a sandy mountain just beyond their edge.
When the tree line breaks, however, she stops and stares in shock. The desert is little more than a pitted crater. A chasm runs through it, spotted here and there with water and lava— remains of some battle, perhaps. The sandy mountain she saw glimpses of from the forest has been cracked in two, a hole in its center gaping up toward the sky. Tattered banners, black and gold, flap from ruined walls of fortifications at the mountain’s base, on the opposite side of the chasm.
She doesn’t cross the chasm, instead staying near the comfort of the trees— though even these are beginning to show signs of battle the farther she goes, with burns and axe-cuts scored into their bark, and blackened leaves from fire at their tops. The trees themselves respond sluggishly to her touch, and though this is not her forest, it still pains her to see it.
No more clues appear, and so she aims east, away from the setting sun and the silent scene of destruction. The forest welcomes her back in, and though she can hear monsters beginning to emerge from their dark hiding places, she does not feel fear.
Eventually, as the sun begins to rise again, she catches sight of another ruin rising above the trees— a house on a hill. When she gets closer, she sees the same black banner with the gold, triangular symbol on it hanging in tatters over the remains of the front door.
She squints as her builder’s eye completes the lines of the burned roof and crumbling walls and comes away with a picture that is strangely familiar. This is Joel’s style. Clearly he was involved in whatever clash of factions happened on this server, and the destruction visited on his allies had found him as well.
The charred house sparks a memory, and then she puts it together. This is Grian's first game arena. She's sure if she traveled far enough in any direction she'd eventually run into the magical border, and now that she's aware of it, she can taste the remains of the Rules that tied the arena together in the air.
She climbs the hill, taking stock of the surrounding area. Joel had picked a good spot— tucked away at the mouth of a valley, but not so far in that he sacrificed a view of any oncoming enemies. Lizzie can see the burnt posts of what might have once been a wooden palisade blocking the entrance to a secluded little grotto over to the west, and to the northeast, great stone walls rise, encircling a large area. Red banners still flap proudly from the guard towers, though she can see where the gate was blasted open, and the scaffolding of a siege runs over the walls in places.
Surely, she thinks, they must have been the victors.
She aims north, carefully climbing over the wreckage of what seems to have been a very pleasant cottage. The rolling hills start rising into more mountainous terrain the closer she gets to the red-bannered fortress, and her breath comes short and sharp as the air begins to grow thinner.
She steps through the shattered gate and looks around. It is dead silent— there is no sign of the animals that must have moved in after the game ended, as they had at Joel's cottage. Even her breathing seems too loud, as if it's disturbing the stillness of this castle. It seems to be mostly fields within the walls, though they lie fallow now, with no one to tend or replant them after the winter. Arrows still protrude from some of the chinks in the walls. There are more red banners here as well, planted in the ground in front of a low, flat building that must have been this faction’s main base of operations.
A flutter of movement catches her eye, and she turns toward it sharply— but it is only another banner, caught up in a sudden breeze. The banner itself is held aloft by a regal-looking statue on a stair-step plinth. It is tall, and a long cape flows behind the figure. A tall, spiked crown rests on its head, and there is something familiar about the silhouette of the statue that makes her draw closer to it.
It is carved from granite, she sees as she approaches, and the way the stone catches the setting sun makes it look as though it's soaked in blood. And the face— the face is one she knows well.
"Ren," she breathes, reaching out to touch the statue of her knight, dressed in the robes of a king.
The stone grows icy cold beneath her fingers, and she jerks her hand back as she watches the statue shift and stretch in front of her— or, no, something is coming through it. A spectre of the man in the statue pushes his way out, stepping down from the plinth as she backs away, wary. He comes to a halt on the final step of the base of the statue.
"My lady," says Ren, inclining his head regally. His voice has a thick burr, one she had not heard from him when he was her knight, except when he was at his most dramatic. His scarlet cloak swirls around him, though the air is dead. "What can the Red King do for ye?"
"The— Red King?" Lizzie says, her face drawing into a frown.
"Aye, that is what they called me here."
She studies his face, and as she does, she starts to see differences between the Ren she knows and the one who is standing in front of her. His face is more angular, and his canines— though always sharper than the average human's— are more pronounced. There is a grey tint to his skin, and his eyes, which she thought were brown (already different from Ren's blue), are actually a deep red. In fact, the longer she looks at him, the less the Red King looks like Ren at all, and she starts to wonder why she ever thought they were similar.
"Forgive me," she says. "You reminded me of someone I once knew."
"Already forgotten," the Red King replies, waving away the apology. "And who are ye, my lady, and what brings ye here, to my domain?"
"You may call me the Shadow Lady," Lizzie says, and she is still trying to get a read on the Red King. Who— or what— is he? He isn't a player, and that leaves only some strange, otherworldly entities— none of which are ideal conversation partners. "As for what brings me here, I was only exploring." She glances around. "Though perhaps you could answer a question for me— what happened here? Some final battle? Were you among the victors?"
"Ah, my lady, if we had won, I would not be here before ye now," answers the Red King, his face growing grave. "Nay, this were our last stand. All the men under the red banner fought and fell here, and those scavengers from the desert came out triumphant."
Lizzie thinks back to the desert, destroyed almost beyond recognition, and wonders.
"It were a glorious battle, though!" the Red King says, with grim satisfaction in his voice. "We gave nearly as good as we got, and the fields of Dogwarts were watered with blood that night. I feasted, for a time."
"Your men, under the red banner— who were they?" Lizzie asks.
The Red King looks down at her. "There were Etho and Skizz," he begins. "Bannermen from the first. And BigB—"
Lizzie's hand drops to the hilt of a sword that is no longer there, and she shakes her head at the reaction. She's not in the game anymore. He is only another player.
"—and Martyn, me loyal Hand," the Red King continues, and Lizzie has to raise an eyebrow at that. Loyal and Martyn didn't necessarily go together, in her experience, but perhaps this first game had taught him some lessons that he carried into the second.
"And then there was Ren," says the Red King, his eyes boring into Lizzie. "But him, I think, you knew already, my lady."
Lizzie only inclines her head. "And what role did he serve?"
"He were me own host, of course. He brought me here. Protect the kingdom, at any cost, that were what he asked. I did my best." The Red King smiles— or snarls, Lizzie can't quite tell. "It weren't enough."
"I have presided over many kingdoms," Lizzie says softly, looking around. She imagines, briefly, what the fortress must have looked like during the game, when it was full of life— she can almost hear Skizzleman's loud voice and Ren's bark of laughter; almost see Etho and BigB's quieter amusement as Martyn runs on with some clever bit of wordplay. "None of them still stand."
"Perhaps ye and me are two of a kind, Shadow Lady," the Red King says. "The last remaining thing of once-proud lands."
"Perhaps," Lizzie echoes. The Red King is far more isolated than she will ever be, however. She, at least, can leave this world. "What is it that keeps you tied here, Red King? Is it a broken oath?"
The Red King's cloak swirls around him furiously as he draws himself to his full height. Blood oozes up from under his crown and begins to drip down his face. An icy wind picks up from nowhere, biting into Lizzie's skin. "I have broken no oath," he spits.
"But you don't want to spend the rest of your days in the ruins of a dead world, surely," Lizzie pushes. "Why are you here?"
The Red King seems to deflate, and the freezing wind dissipates. "I could not tell ye," he says. "I have been asking that question since I were left here alone. I am a spirit of blood, and of vengeance, and there are none to be had here anymore."
Lizzie tilts her head to the side. "May I try something?" She's not sure if she can muster her powers fully here, but she doesn't seem to be bound in the same way a participant in the game would have been, so maybe it'll work. "I'd like to see if I can make a… diagnosis."
The Red King raises his eyebrows, interested. "Aye, by all means."
Lizzie concentrates, and her eyes slip closed. When she opens them again, the Red King appears before her as a mass of twisting, scarlet threads, all bound up in one another. She's sure if she took the time to look through each one, it would be a summoning and a contract completed. But the thread she's looking for is not one of the blood-red ones; this one is glowing purple, and it leads from the Red King's wrist back into the statue that has served as his prison.
She shakes away the vision and smiles. "I found it. Just as I suspected."
"What?" the Red King demands, leaning forward eagerly. "Can ye free me?"
"You weren't ever supposed to be a part of this world," Lizzie explains, drawing out pen and paper from her pocket. Urgent— please come quick as you can, she writes. "So when you arrived, you must have slipped in between the cracks—" Or someone thought it would add an extra dash of excitement, she thinks— "and when it came time for everyone to leave, those cracks had been sealed up tight." She lifts her message, stretching it between two hands, and focuses hard on it. The paper ignites in a flurry of pink sparks and disappears.
"What was that? Sorcery?" the Red King asks, peering at the empty place where her message had been.
"Inter-world communication," Lizzie replies. "The man who can let you go should be here soon."
The Red King's eyes widen. "Easy as that?"
"Well, I don't know if it will be easy," Lizzie cautions. "But he should be able to solve your… problem."
There is a flash of purple light, and Grian appears, wings stretched out behind him. "How did you even get into this world?" he demands, before he's even fully materialized.
"Hello, Grian, it's nice to see you," says Lizzie pleasantly. "I'm glad you could come on such short notice."
"You," the Red King says, and Lizzie looks up, shocked by the change in tone, and then takes a full step back. Spirit of blood and vengeance indeed— the Red King's face is almost totally obscured by the blood running down in sheets from his crown, and an axe has appeared in his hand, razor-sharp and gleaming. The wind has picked up again, and there are even some dark clouds scudding across the sky, looking like they may hold snow. "Shadow Lady, have ye been in league with the desert people all this time?"
"No," Lizzie says firmly. "That game has ended. Every faction has disbanded. He's here to let you go."
The Red King's eyes lock onto hers and hold them for a long moment. Lizzie remains still, letting her confidence speak for her. Whatever he reads there must satisfy him, because the wind dies down once again and he puts the axe back into place on his belt. "Fine," he says. "I trust ye, my lady."
Grian, for his part, seems flabbergasted. "What's he still doing here?"
"He was let in, and now he needs to be let out," Lizzie says, patiently. "Can't you see?" She gestures to the purple thread, and Grian smacks himself in the forehead.
"Should've thought of that. Honestly, I think I was so caught up in winning and— and everything after— that I just forgot about tying up any loose ends. Just one minute—" He closes his eyes, and a third eye opens above his head, purple and glowing.
"Aye, sure, caught up in winning, rub it in," the Red King growls, so low Lizzie almost doesn't hear it, and she has to hide her laugh behind her hand as he mutters: "Filthy desert hippie."
"There," says Grian, with no small amount of satisfaction in his voice as he opens his (regular) eyes again. "That should do it. I am sorry about that," he adds to the Red King, who is too busy looking at his hands to answer.
"I feel… different," he says slowly. He looks up, then takes one step forward, down onto the grass at the base of the statue. Then he takes another step, and another, a smile slowly growing. "I can leave!" He stops, and turns toward Lizzie, covering the distance between them in two strides. He takes her hands in his (much to her surprise) and regards her gravely.
"Shadow Lady," he says. His hands are ice-cold, and it takes all of Lizzie's strength not to pull away. "I owe ye a debt, my lady. If ever ye have need of the Red King, just call, and I will be there."
Lizzie inclines her head. "You do me an honor," she replies, though she's not sure under what circumstances she's ever going to need to call upon a spirit of blood and vengeance. Never hurts to have an ace up your sleeve, I suppose, she thinks wryly.
"You're welcome," Grian puts in, a bit peevishly. The Red King slowly turns his head to look at him.
"Consider our feud settled, desert wanderer," he says, with all the finality of an executioner's axe. Then he releases Lizzie's hands and bows his head in her direction. He turns his eyes toward the sky, and dissolves into an icy wind that brushes past Lizzie before disappearing entirely.
"Well done," Lizzie tells Grian, who rolls his eyes.
"Don't think you can get away with slipping through my permissions, either," he scolds. "I'll be escorting you right out and locking the door behind you." She knows he's mostly joking, but she is glad she found herself in an inactive arena. If it had been an active one, she doesn't think it would have been so easy to leave.
"It's your fault for leaving things slipshod in the first place," she tells him, taking his proffered arm. "Do you expect me not to poke around?"
"See if I invite you to the hardcore world now," he sniffs, extending his wings to their full length.
Lizzie takes one last look around the ruins of the Red King's once-great fortress, then lets the world melt away as Grian brings her back home.