Gods And Gunners

Emil went back to his room. He didn't say another word, too exhausted to say his goodnight. The door shut behind him. Only a day had passed, yet everything in his body screamed as if he had lived an entire war. And the day isn't even over yet.

He dropped the wooden bat near the bed. The dull thud echoed as it hit the floor. The blood that coated it darkened, drying thinly across the wooden grains. Some of it had already seeped into the wood, permanently staining it. A reminder of what had just happened.

Dragging the chair out from the desk, Emil sat quietly. His shoulders dropped from all the fatigue. The oil lamp flickered when he struck the flint. The lamp casted a pale light across the herbs and the table. Fenroot, Drall Bark, and Azure Moss all sitting on the table like pieces of a puzzle. He stared at them.

"How do people survive here? He whispered. "Is that why people are gathered within these walls?"

He wasn't afraid of the war he had faced in the past, the starvation in the tyrannical Earth he lived in. But this world… This place was unpredictable. A place where monsters like goblins exist and attack, where books speak secrets, where plants give power if prepared right.

Emil reached for a paper, tucked beneath the hourglass, and found a pen in the drawer. For a second he paused. He wanted to keep what Lugira's already been doing. He wants to keep everything on track. Then he wrote in English:

Day 1: My Arrival.

But it felt off, for the first time since he got here, he felt that something native to him felt strange. He lifted his hands again, writing in the symbols that this world has used.

I must start to learn how I can protect myself and fit in. Should I trust that last method in the book…?

He wrote. The words felt more natural, familiar. He wrote his day until the flame from the lamp dimmed low. When he finally stood up, the air felt cooler.

Emil lay down on the bed, arms across his chest. The mattress felt like heaven from the nightmare he had just experienced. The scent of the herbs and blood still lingered faintly across the dark room. He finally closed his eyes. And let his sleep take him.

Meanwhile on the dinner table, Demio and Zasha sat across from each other, their eyes full of concern. Both not speaking a word until Lumier finally went to her room. 

"Why did you let him out of the field?" Zasha broke the silence. "Didn't you think of the possibilities that might happen?" She said, tears began to flow.

"It's not like that.." Demio tried to calm her down. "He wasn't supposed to go beyond the riverbed." 

"Still!" Zasha let out a low shout. "There's news telling that goblins appear more often, isn't that true? He could've died." She said, her eyes wavered with each word. 

"But he didn't, did he?" Demio held Zasha in his arms. "He didn't…"

"What if he did?" Zasha tried to push Demio away. "I can't lose a kid." 

"The boy is safe, he got talent. I know that." He paused, pushing Zasha and looking in her eyes. "Put any boy in that situation one out of ten will surely survive." Demio sighed. "And our son did." Demio wiped away Zasha's tears.

"Promise me, you'll protect him no matter what." Zasha smiled a bit.

"I can't promise you that." Demio paused. "But I can promise you. I'll teach him how to protect himself." He smiled too, gently kissing Zasha's forehead. "I'll have to go now, they're waiting for me back at the post." 

Zasha nodded. "Keep safe, my heart." 

"I will." Demio walked away, closing the door on his way out.

Zasha felt a sense of safety with Demio's words. She went to her room, silently plunging into the darkness of the night.

But the night wasn't done yet.

Sleep dragged Emil, it swallowed him whole. 

In his dream, he stood in a wasteland soaked in firelight and smoke. The air was thick with gunpowder, the screams of men, and something far more grotesque—howls. 

Emil looked down, his hands held a rifle. A familiar weapon he had held countless of times. The cold metal body of the rifle felt like an anchor. His hands were shaking from the fatigue of war. 

Then a loud tremor emerged from afar. A wild roar he had heard before. The soil in front of them split. Not because of an explosion, no, far worse. Goblins rose, not just tens, hundreds of them— maybe even thousands. The goblins leapt over the barbed wires, charging through the machine guns as if it was nothing. Their eyes glowed with bloodlust, mouths wide open, screeching their lungs out from hatred. 

Someone from from his back shouted "Hold the fucking line!" Emil recognized the voice, but he couldn't guess who it was. An old comrade? Emil wanted to look back but his body was frozen. 

He fired the rifle at the goblins. Once. Again. And again. The blood splattered as he fired. The knockback of the guns felt vivid. Goblins crawled beneath him. Emil screamed. He kept shooting. Until the bullets ran out.

He dropped his gun, scrambling all over his body to find another. The goblins were at his feet now, reaching up for his legs. Then, he noticed. His hands were small. This wasn't his old body. This was Lugira's. 

He couldn't breathe. His body was shaken. The goblins beneath him slowly grabbed his body, pulling it down the dirt.

The light of the sun slowly shimmered, as a new day arose. Emil woke up with the same roof over his head. The aroma of the morning breakfast flies through the wind. 

His breathing was fast. Sweat came from his temple down to his neck. He was shaken. Squinting his eyes from the nightmare. He stood up, opened the closet doors. Seeing himself in the reflection of the cabinet mirror, he sighed. It was just a nightmare.