Last Bastion

by Rachel Aaron

  SilentBlayde was sinking deeper into his regret when a sudden flash of light blasted in through the cork hole in the barrel's top. Something inside him lurched at the same time, making him gasp. He couldn't explain what had just happened, but the shadows in the barrel with him--the darkness that had always beckoned so invitingly--now felt like a door that had been shut in his face.

  Suddenly terrified, he resumed rocking the barrel frantically and finally tipped over his hiding spot and spilled out into the street. His legs were a mass of pins and needles when they unfolded, so he pushed up on his elbows instead, reaching out a hand to a nearby shadow...

  Only to have his fingers land on rough cobblestones. There was no feeling of sinking in, no welcome or safety. The Lightless Realm was completely cut off.

  It was a Shadow Ward, he realized, snatching his shaking hand back. The bane of all Assassins' existence. But what could have possibly have made a Shadow Ward this big? Wards were normally small circles cast by Clerics, no more than a few meters wide. Certain important holy NPCs such as the High Priest of the Sun could cast larger ones, but the only thing in the game capable of creating a Shadow Ward big enough to cover a whole city was...

  His thoughts trailed off as he finally noticed the strange golden light filling the alley. He'd thought it was just the glow of the afternoon sun, but when he looked up, the sky itself was covered in a glowing golden barrier he'd never seen before but recognized instantly.

  The Resplendent Aegis of Bastion!

  The ancient artifact from which the capital city drew both its founding and its name. For the king to activate such a magically expensive device meant that he considered Bastion to be in critical danger, and SilentBlayde feared the Roughnecks were the cause. They had just wiped out a major camp and killed Captain Malakai, the city's second most powerful raid boss after the king himself. He had to get back to Tina and warn her, even if it meant telling her he'd failed again.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain in his legs, which were now on fire as the blood began to flow again, SB pushed himself to his feet. A rush of dizziness hit him as he came up, and he almost passed out again, falling to his knees. He barely managed to catch himself on the wall opposite where his barrel had been. He was still trying to catch his breath when he saw dimly glowing letters from an almost spent Sun Writing spell scrawled onto limestone--letters written in English.

  I won't tell Tina.

  SB began to shake. The message wasn't signed, but that didn't matter. He knew who it was from, and seeing it made him more ashamed than ever. Even after everything he'd done, James had given him a second chance. Tina would never find out how badly he'd acted today, which meant he hadn't ruined everything after all. Tears pricked at his eyes as he realized how lucky he'd just gotten.

  "Thank you, James," he whispered to the wall, rubbing his arm across the stone to scuff out the last of the Sun Writing spell's magic. When it was gone, he straightened up with new resolve and took stock of his situation.

  The street he'd killed the guards in was bloody but empty. Someone must have come by to collect the bodies while he'd been unconscious. SB wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't regret killing the knights who'd slaughtered his fellow players, but the memory of how brutally he'd executed them made him feel dirty. Again, it seemed, James had been right. He wasn't actually a killer. He'd just played one in the game. Now that the game was real, though, where did that leave him? These were the skills he had. If they weren't him, what was?

  That was too big a question for him to handle right now, so SB moved on to his physical state, which was no less messy but a lot easier to work with. His armor wasn't too damaged since the fight had been mostly grapples, but the black leather was stiff with clammy blood, and his wrist still had a ragged gash from James's fangs under his glove. The wound was a deep, angry purple, but at least it wasn't bleeding. Neither was his thigh where James had stabbed him. Since there was no way his body could have repaired so much damage on its own in one afternoon, that left only one explanation.

  James had healed him

  The realization made SB's eyes cloud up all over again. To heal someone like him, after everything he'd done... He didn't deserve such generosity. He had to make it right.

  Head still swimming, SB grabbed the wall and hauled himself to his feet. After a bit of hunting, he found his swords on the ground where they'd fallen out of the barrel with him. Bending down to grab them sent a spike of pain through his injured leg, but he was reasonably sure he could walk so long as he had something to balance against.

  Bracing his shoulder against the wall, he sheathed his silver blades, then he started limping down the road. From the street signs nailed to the buildings, he figured out that he was in the northwestern part of the city, near the Diplomatic Quarter. That was far too close to the castle and a long way from the Royal Mile, where he'd started. Since she was heading for the bank, Tina would be even farther away.

  If he'd had the Lightless Realm to hide in, it wouldn't have been so bad, but the thought of limping all the way across Bastion on a bum leg in the open felt impossible. It was the only way to get back to Tina, though, so SB gritted his teeth and sucked it up, limping along the wall as he went over his mental map of Bastion to try to work out a path south that would keep him to the side streets and hopefully well out of the way of any patrols.

  After less than one block, he was forced to stop and fashion a crutch from a long, narrow plank. The wood was noisy and got in the way, but at least it let him take his weight off his leg, which felt so fragile now he was worried it'd burst open if he continued to push it. He still stuck to the shadows, hiding himself in a mundane manner, but it was hard to sneak with the bulky crutch clacking and banging with every step. Even so, no one came out to see what was making all the racket, and the crutch did let him go a little bit faster. He was starting to think this might not be so bad after all when the side street he'd been following suddenly ended, and he found himself just around the corner from the Royal Mile.

  SB shoved himself into the doorway of a busted-up storefront, peeking around the edge at the swarming main street of Bastion. He'd come out almost on top of the camp the Roughnecks had demolished earlier, but you'd never know it had been a victory, looking at it now. Armored knights in red-and-gold tabards filled the destroyed square, marching ten abreast down the wide Royal Mile. The cavalry had mobilized as well, riding out in swift patrols down the major streets toward the south. Most intimidating of all, the giant front gates of the royal castle were now open, the huge doors vomiting rank upon rank of soldiers out into the city. Most didn't move past Malakai's destroyed camp, but they were transporting supplies from the castle at a terrifying rate, building a new camp even larger than the one the Roughnecks had destroyed.

  Flinching, SB ducked back into the dark shop. Clearly, crossing the Royal Mile here was a no go. He'd have to sneak down and try again farther south, where the soldiers were thinner, but he wasn't sure if that was a good option, either. Watching the soldiers, he realized the only reason he hadn't had trouble yet was because he'd been so close to the castle. The knights weren't patrolling up here because they considered these streets already secured. They were moving in force farther down the city, though, which was exactly where he had to go. Even if he stuck to the side streets, things were only going to get more dangerous the farther south he went, and he didn't think he could defeat another full patrol of knights with a wounded leg and no Lightless Realm to hide in.

  His breaths started coming faster as he realized just how bad his position was. He was trapped on the other side of a net that was closing around Tina and the player threat in the south. He couldn't fight, couldn't hide, couldn't run, and couldn't even walk without help. How was he going to get back to her? How was he going to get anywhere like this?

  Fighting down the panic, SB took a deep breath and looked around for something he could use--anything to give himself an edge. The building he'd dived into for cover was so dar
k, it took him several moments to realize he was standing in the rear entrance of the Sunburst Tailoring shop, the one that fronted onto the Royal Mile and sold high-end thread and fabrics to master-level crafters. Like every other shop he'd seen so far in the city, the place had been looted out, all the expensive textiles stolen or burned. There was still a box of scraps in the corner behind the tailor's workbench, though, and that gave him an idea.

  Ducking down so the soldiers outside wouldn't see movement through the cracked front windows, SB hobbled as quickly as he could along the back wall of the shop toward the workbench. Crouching behind it, he pulled the box of scraps over and started digging through it. Most of the strips of fabric were too small to use, but there were some tunics, pants, and cloaks set aside for mending that were still more or less in one piece. As he pulled out all the usable pieces, SB breathed a sigh of relief that a large chunk of Bastion's population was elven. Human shoulders were too wide, their arms too short, and their torsos too stocky for his frame, and he didn't want his disguise to look like a disguise.

  When he'd assembled a full set that looked as if it would fit, SB stripped out of his armor. Peeling off the form-fitting leather was both a relief and a pain. He'd lived in his raiding set for days straight now. It was filthy and bloodstained and smelled horrific, but that didn't stop him from missing it the moment it was off. It wasn't just the magical boost the legendary set provided. The black armor with its red-glowing runes was SilentBlayde in his mind. Without it, he felt naked and vulnerable, but full Assassin's armor was utterly incompatible with the short-sleeved green tunic, linen breeches, and sturdy work shoes he'd scavenged, so he forced himself to remove it all and shoved his body into the new clothes as fast as he could.

  All that speed stopped, though, when he got to his face wrap.

  He froze, body trembling. The vulnerable feeling of being without armor was nothing compared to the thought of walking around with his face bare. But there was no way this was going to work if he kept his mask.

  Fingers shaking, SilentBlayde pulled off his wrapped helmet one layer at a time, reminding himself with each turn that his father wasn't in this world. He had a different face here, one that bore no sins. In this place, he was just another elf. No one here would ever know who or what he really was. Even Tina didn't know his family name. He'd left his shame with his real body back in Japan. He was SilentBlayde now, not Haruto. It would be okay.

  That was enough to make him finally remove his helmet. He pulled off his ninja mask next, tucking them both into his backpack with shaking hands. Then, face bare, he stood up and turned to look himself over in broken mirror that was still hanging in the tailor shop's fitting area.

  The shop was so dark, he had to hobble closer to see. Pressing as near to the cracked glass as he could without getting sliced, SB ran a delicate finger down his smooth, razor-straight elven jaw. The bones underneath had no bumps or ridges, no flaws his fingers could detect. Freed from his helmet at last, his long golden hair hung down to frame his face, which was symmetrical and straight, his nose and brows sharp and finely wrought.

  It was the same face he'd seen every time he'd logged in for the last six years, but he'd never seen it in such detail before--never seen it as his. He reached up to brush his hair away, turning his head this way and that, but no matter which way he moved, SilentBlayde was flawless.

  He smiled at the broken mirror with a shuddering, giddy breath. No father, no whispering neighbors, and a perfect face. James was right. This was a miracle.

  As happy as that realization was, it brought the rest of what James had said into sharp relief. Back at the Order Fortress, he'd told Tina that he wanted to live in this world as SilentBlayde because it had come naturally and because she'd needed to hear it. Now that the reality of his new liberation was actually sinking in, though, the ash smudging his perfect face served as a reminder that the world he wanted to live in was very much still on fire. Not all of that was their fault, of course, but James had been correct when he'd said that if they wanted to stay here, they had to stop breaking things. SB wasn't sure how they'd do that, but one thing was absolutely certain.

  "I have to get back to Tina," he told the elf in the broken mirror. "Mere survival isn't enough anymore." They had to look beyond just themselves and their next day. They had to do better.

  Clenching his fists with new resolve, SB turned away from the mirror and covered himself in a large, patched cloak. He strapped his sheathed blades underneath it, crossing them over his back so the hilts wouldn't be visible from the front. It was extremely uncomfortable and he'd never pass a pat-down, but going unarmed wasn't an option. It would have to do.

  He picked up his crutch again then pulled his new hood low over his face and hobbled out of the shop. The new camp in front of the castle had only gotten bigger while he'd worked on his disguise. Patrols now stood at both ends of the street, blocking his exits. Sneaking was no longer an option, so he took a deep breath and stepped out into plain sight, limping toward the Royal Mile while he frantically practiced his cover story under his breath.

  SilentBlayde had always been good at lying. He didn't know if was a natural talent or if he'd just gotten good because he'd been breathing lies since he was eight, but it was a skill he relied on every day, and playing online games had only made him better.

  The internet was the one place where no one knew or cared who Haruto Watanabe was. With every game he'd tried, he'd plastered over the ugly truth of his real life with new, easily worn personalities. In TrinityTimeVR, he'd been Sato, a studious middle schooler who always made top marks. Then, in Guns Galore Arena, he'd become Kaito, a class rep blowing off steam. He'd learned from each role, and when FFO had come to Japan with much fanfare, he'd known the highly social game would require his best persona yet. Since playing the highly responsible Kaito had been exhausting, he'd planned for SilentBlayde's "real" player to be a laid-back high schooler with a cool hint of delinquency named Asahi.

  All of that had gone out the window when he'd met Tina. She'd been his first real friend in Forever Fantasy Online, and he'd quickly discovered she was also the first person he couldn't bring himself to lie to. To stay with her, he'd abandoned his other faces and played FFO as Haruto, living as himself despite the doom he courted by doing so.

  But while he'd accepted that terrible decision as the price of staying in Tina's life, the knights were not her. Lying to them was as easy as breathing, and by the time he reached the end of the street, SilentBlayde had already come up with all the details of his new identity, waving his hands at the cluster of armed men marching down the Royal Mile with perfect frantic eagerness.

  "Good knights!" he cried, rushing toward them before they could start questioning him. "You are a sight for sore eyes! Pray tell me, is the Royal Mile safe to travel?"

  All the knights had gone for their swords the moment they'd seen him. As he spoke, though, all their hands had drifted away except for one. Their leader, a grizzled veteran even taller than him, kept a hold on his weapon, looming over SilentBlayde with hate in his cold blue eyes.

  "Depends on who is asking," he sneered, looking SB's carefully mimicked hunch up and down. "Declare yourself or be slain, elf."

  SB cowered quite convincingly, sinking nearly to the ground. "Please, Sir Knight! M-My name is Sky of Highcloud--" It was the most stereotypically elf name he could think of. "And I am but a humble leather worker seeking his family!"

  He finished with more cowering, lowering his head meekly while he went over what he'd just said again in his head to make sure he hadn't messed anything up. Faking a persona online was one thing, but aping FFO's archaic manner of speech took things to a whole other level. Don't use any slang, he reminded himself. No modern words. Talk like an NPC. Maybe he should offer them a quest.

  The knight glanced at his fellows and then released his weapon to grab SB's arm in a steel grip. "Where were you during the Nightmare?" he demanded, pulling SilentBlayde's hunched body straight in an effor
t to look at his face. "I remember no one in Bastion by your name."

  SilentBlayde stammered to buy time. Bastion had been the largest city in FFO, but the number of NPCs here during the Nightmare couldn't have been more than one or two hundred. It was no surprise they'd all know each other, by name if not by face since they couldn't move much. He was trying to think of an area in the city Mr. Highcloud could have come from that this man wouldn't be able to call bullshit on when one of the other knights--a very young man who looked barely out of his teens--stepped forward.

  "Sir Dan," the young knight said, his voice pitying. "This poor man is clearly not a player. You shouldn't treat him so harshly."

  The leader, Sir Dan, growled at that, but his anger just seemed to make the younger knight more determined. Looking at his kindly face, SB recalled what he'd seen at the Order Fortress, how not all of the NPCs had been present in FFO. Just like the land had expanded when this had ceased to be a game, nine out of ten citizens of this world hadn't been trapped in the "Nightmare." They'd been somewhere else. Where, he had no idea, but it gave him his out.

  "Wha-What is this 'Nightmare' you speak of, Sir Knight?" he said, making sure his voice cracked at the most pathetic moment. "Is that what brought the player demons to destroy our city?"

  He was proud of that one, but the hand crushing his arm only tightened. "If you weren't in the Nightmare, then why are you in Bastion?" Sir Dan demanded. "I know of no Highcloud shop or business."

  "I-I travel, sir!" SB improvised quickly. "I sell leathers. I came down to Bastion with yeti hides from the Winter Nation."

  "And where are these hides?" the knight demanded, squeezing him tighter.