“What’cha think? I logged off too. Called ‘im on the phone, told ‘im to meet me in-game once the time passed. He told me he’d log in as soon as he was able. So, the two hours passed, I logged in, and went fuckin’ around to wait for Baratus to log in.” She sighed, shaking her head, “You know how time passes by funny in the game, right?”
“Mhm.”
“Well, stupid me, I grew a little bored, sittin’ on my arse in Arken, waitin’ for him to show up. An in-game hour passed, then two, three, then I decided, sod it all, and went out to kill some. This is my ‘what if’ moment.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” she said, sitting up, “what if I hadn’t gone out killin’ monsters? What if I had stayed in Arken, mindful of the time? What if I hadn’t logged in until I heard from Baratus?” She shrugged, “I can only wonder, Hephy, and that’s all I’ll ever be able to do.” She took a deep, steadying breath, “So, I check the time, hours had passed in-game, minutes outside, about half an hour. ‘Twasn’t quite like Baratus to up and leave me hangin’, but hey, I thought, shit happens. So, I kept waitin.’”
“I see. When did you realize something wasn’t quite alright?”
She sighed, “When a customer asked me about a commission from Baratus.” She shook her head, “Funny, no? It took a total, fuckin’ rando to take my head off my arse and notice that my damned betrothed hadn’t showed up yet.”
“Not your fault, Altara.”
“’Course it’s my damn fault! I could’ve been on the lookout, I would have been, normally, waitin’ for him to show up, loggin’ right out the moment I saw he didn’t come online! But this time, I went about killin’ monsters and doing whatever else, rather than lookin’ after ‘im! If only I... If only I... fuck!” she sobbed, “I... I was so fuckin’ stupid, Hephaestus! I should have logged off, I should’ve done somethin’, anythin’! Damn it, I should have been with ‘im when he got the email, but no! I was inside the god damn game!”
She clenched her teeth and fists, forcing herself back into control; her voice was congested as she said “I should’ve been with him, Hephaestus. I should have sat by his bed, held his hand as he read that fuckin’ email! Then I could’ve... I don’t know! I could’ve said ‘hey Brandon, don’t sweat it sweetheart! We can go get us ‘nother game, we can start again!’” She sobbed, “But no. I was too damn late.”
“Altara, there’s no need to—”
“No, there’s need. Been avoidin’ facin’ it for too long now, Hephy.” She took a deep, heaving breath. “I logged off, and called ‘im. No answer. ‘Right,’ methought, ‘e’s busy’ or whatever. Hah, stupid me, eh?” She wiped at her nose, “Didn’t occur to me to drive to ‘is place ‘til I saw the time. Past midnight, it was. Then, well, that’s when I felt that pull in my gut that somethin’ wasn’t quite right. I drove to ‘is place, knocked on the door – no answer. Well, I go get his hidden, spare key, open the door, and what do you think I see?”
Hephaestus gulped. “What did you see?”
“Nothin’ at all. The lights were all off. Quite unlike ‘im, you know? Gettin’ off his bed and turnin’ on the lights in ‘is house is one of the few things he could do by himself, he took pride in doin’ it, every night, like clockwork. That’s when my heart began freezin’.” She took another breath, clearly dreading to face what was coming. “I climbed up the stairs, callin’ ‘is name. No answer. I get to ‘is room, knock on ‘is door, no answer. I enter, see ‘is laptop on, and I read the email: We’re fuckin’ sorry, but you didn’t do the damn test to prove your innocence, so you’re banned without a chance for appeal, toddles!’ Well, that’s when my breathin’ began to accelerate, you know?”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what Alterwelt meant for Brandon. It meant ‘is life, ‘is way of being ‘imself after the accident. And now, well, he had nothing.” She sighed, “So, I close the laptop, see the bathroom door’s half open. My blood curdles, I feel my heart slow to a crawl; so, I open the door, and then...” Altara’s gaze became distant, haunted as she stared towards nothingness. “You know how some things get burnt into your memory, and will never go away? Heh, what I saw, then and there, is one of those things. I saw Brandon, naked, face down, motionless in a pool ‘o dried, caked blood – his blood.” She turned towards Hephaestus, the haunted look still in her eyes. “Wanna know how Brandon died?” Hephaestus said nothing, “Well, the most stupid, most ridiculous way you can imagine: He slipped.”
“What?”
“He fuckin’ slipped, Hephaestus, in his bathroom, on the way to the tub. So, here’s what I think happened - he got that damn email, felt like shit, couldn’t contact me as I was in-game,” Altara shrugged, “felt so crappy he wanted to take a shower to cool off, he slipped, and cracked ‘is skull. Now, here’s the kicker: He didn’t take showers ‘imself, not anymore, since the accident. Normally, I’d come by most of the day, if not all day, to be by ‘is side, carin’ for ‘im,” she paused, “the way a future wife’s meant to do. That day, however, I was fuckin’ around, killin’ monsters in a bloody videogame. Hah, and look what’s it cost me, Hephaestus,” she closed her eyes, steadying herself before violently opening them, “It cost me everything.”
“Altara, I had no idea.”
“No,” she said softly, “you didn’t. You couldn’t – no one could, as I never told anyone. Still, well, I called the police, and wouldn’t you know? It came to light that Brandon played in one of Imperium Games’ endorsed virtual spaces, so as idiotic puritans are prone to doin’, well, they spun the story as a cautionary tale against virtual spaces when, in truth, the virtual space they vilify was one of the things givin’ his life any meanin’ at all.”
“What was the other thing?” Altara responded with a sad gaze directed his way. “Stupid question,” Hephaestus said. “But then, why didn’t you say anything, set the story straight?”
Altara shrugged, “What was the point? It wouldn’t bring Brandon back, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing in people’s minds. I wouldn’t waste my time, or my energy—what little I had—on that.”
“What did you do, then?”
She shrugged once more, “Wallow in self-pity, guilt, anguish, booze and molly, what else?” Altara shook her head, “Now, don’t look at me that way. I felt as a damn murderer – out of negligence, sure, but a murderer still. Now, now, I know that look, the ‘it ain’t your fault’ look. Problem is, Hephaestus, I should have been with him then, when that accursed mail came.” She shrugged a third time before saying, “But I wasn’t, and that’s the end of it.”
“It wasn’t a conscious choice, Altara.”
“Doesn’t really matter though, does it? Well, after a couple months of bein’ a broken, pathetic mess, somethin’ clicked in my mind: I had been there when Baratus made the ring, I had seen him hand-craft it in front of Libby, I saw when he turned it in to the lordling so his hacker report was lifted. So then, it dawned on me, just what the hell had happened to the ring?” She shook her head, “Then, well, I decided I would do something – anything, to get it back. The last piece Baratus ever made. That’s what’s driven my struggle for hell knows how long, and now,” she sighed, “I have the ring, and that’s it.”
“That’s it?” Hephaestus asked.
“Mhm. I got what I wanted, and I admit I had fun gettin’ it back, it gave me meanin’, somethin’ to do with myself, my life, and my time, but now,” she shrugged, “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Hmm,” grunted the blacksmith. “Well, how old are you?”
“Why?”
Hephaestus shrugged, “So I can tell you that you have a lifetime ahead of you to do whatever you want.”
“Heh, funny fella,” she said. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t much wanna go outside, you know? May even choose to get digitized into the game,” she shrugged, “much better in ‘ere, anyways.”
“Digitized?” Hephaestus asked.
“What, you did
n’t figure it out?” The man shook his head, “Hephy, you ever met any non-player-characters in the game?”
“Hmm, in the starting town, a family – Angus, Alva, and their daughter, Kaminalda, why?”
“Did they seem just a little too real, too endearing to you to be simple computer programs?”
“I guess so, but isn’t that the whole point of this simulation? To be damn realistic?”
“It is, but also, well, it gives a sort of after-life.”
Hephaestus blinked rapidly, “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Well, if you opt for it, under certain circumstances, you can be digitized into the game, becomin’ a non-player character, livin’ your life as you would in the outside world, except within the game, killin’ monsters and makin’ stuff for all of eternity.”
“I had no idea,” said Hephaestus dumbly, as the implications of Altara’s words rushed into his mind. “So, all of the non-player-characters?”
She shrugged, “Dunno if all of them, but a lot of ‘em are dead folk who chose to live their afterlives in Alterwelt.” She sighed, “Baratus would’ve qualified to be digitized, you know?”
“Truly?”
“Mhm, he chose not to, though.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she said with a sad smile on her face, “He said that as long as I remained real in the outside world, it would always be a much better place out there.” Altara sighed, “Funny, you know? I am real outside, right enough, but I only want to be in ‘ere,” she shuddered, “because he ain’t real in the outside anymore.” Then, despite her strength, despite her emotional fortitude and her can-do attitude, to Hephaestus dismay, Altara broke into tears. The blacksmith didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing that came to his mind: He sat beside her, letting her bawl her eyes out, without judging her, without uttering a comment, simply letting her pour her heart out.
After some time, the woman regained her composure, wiping at her nose with the back of her sleeve. Her face was red and puffy when she said “Sorry, Hephy. Just... It got the best of me.”
“It’s okay, Altara. I understand the feeling.”
“You do?”
“Mhm. Though my case was different.”
“’Twas?”
“Yea.”
“Care to tell?”
Hephaestus shrugged, “Not much to tell, really, though it doesn’t make it any less painful. Remember the situation before the arena, first time I came to Baratus’ forge?”
“Matter o’ fact, I remember – I told you to do whatever the hell you wanted, no?”
“Mhm. Truth is, it stung – you sounded an awful lot like my Zinnia.”
“No shit?”
Hephaestus shook his head, “The same expression, nearly same words, really. Suffice to say, well,” he shrugged, “I feel guilty, responsible of her passing, too.”
“Why?”
“Because of something really stupid. She was always with me at the forge, right?”
“Mhm.”
“So, this one time, we go into an argument before the forging day starts. The stupidest crap you can imagine – I think I left the toilet seat up, and she went on at me about having asked me not to repeatedly. Well, stupid me, I tell her to just take it down herself, if it bothered her so much. She said then, ‘fine, do whatever the hell you want,’ and I said, well, ‘Fine.’” Hephaestus chuckled. “That’s the last thing I said to her, and you don’t know how damn badly I regret it.”
“I see. What happened?”
“Well, let me give you a bit of context: There was this valve on a propane gas, yes? I had seen it loose, and thought to myself, ‘I’ll fix it tomorrow.’ Well, that day, was my tomorrow, and that was my ‘what if’ moment – what if I had of all damn things, put the fucking seat down? That’s it – if I had done just that,” he shrugged, “Zinny and I wouldn’t have argued, I wouldn’t have forgotten about the damn valve, and shit wouldn’t have happened.” He took a deep, calming breath, much as Altara had before. “Zinny came down to the forge right as I opened the valve, she brought me pancakes, you know? Said she was angry, but she loved me, wanted me well fed. Then I looked at her – she was still wearing her gown and slippers. Last time I saw her beaming, despite having a frown on her face. I lit the propane torch, the valve exploded. Explosion sent me flying backwards, only got cuts and bruises, but Zinny? Well, she got metal shrapnel embedded in her heart, died instantly. She didn’t suffer none,” Hephaestus sniffled, “all because of a damn toilet seat.”
“I’m sorry, Hephaestus,” said Altara, “that was... awful.”
The blacksmith sighed. “Life can be tragic, Altara – ridiculously so. Your man slipped, and cracked his skull, my wife and I had an argument, and I forgot to fix a damn valve. Both really stupid deaths, both easily avoidable,” he shuddered, “both unnecessary. But, you know? The experience taught me something.”
“What?”
“It taught me that life is the most beautiful, most fragile thing there is, and just as a candle, it can be snuffed from one moment to the next. So,” he shrugged, “you gotta enjoy it, appreciate what’s important, and I don’t mean material crap, I mean the people close to you, the things which make you happy, that kind of stuff.”
“Important stuff, such as lowerin’ the toilet seat?”
“Heh, precisely.”
Altara took a deep breath, “We’ve fucked up in real life, haven’t we?”
“Hmm, well, we have, yes. But not because we tried to – we, quite simply, misplaced our priorities.”
“True – I was in the game, you didn’t put the seat down.”
Hephaestus laughed, “The more you say it, the more ridiculous it sounds.”
“It does, but it doesn’t make it any less crappy, does it?”
“No,” he replied, “It doesn’t. But it is what it is, and it’s something I’ve got to live with for the rest of my life. I choose not to let it be something awful, though – don’t get me wrong, it is, but as I said, it taught me to appreciate the important things in life: My kids, my forge,” he paused, turning towards her, “you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, no, I don’t – I mean, I don’t mean it that, way, romantically, that is! Only, well, I enjoy your company, and as I said to you, well, you helped me in here when I was starting, and you’ve stuck with me so far,” he shrugged, “with a fucking noob.”
“Hah! Well, you are a noob, Hephy. But I admit, I enjoy your company too. You’re the first person who doesn’t judge me, or spits my way the moment they learn I’m Baratus’ former lover,” she chuckled, “Mainly because you didn’t know, but still.”
Hephaestus shrugged, “I wouldn’t have judged you even if I knew. I believe in listening to the whole story, rather than half of it.”
“There should be more peeps like you, then.”
“I couldn’t know.”
“Well,” she said, “I do.”
“Guess this Alterwelt really is another chance at life, isn’t it?” asked Hephaestus.
“True, true. Better not screw this one up, eh?”
“Indeed.” He paused. “By the way, how old did you say you were, again?”
She shrugged, “I didn’t. Doesn’t matter, anyways.”
“True,” said Hephaestus, looking at the stars above. “True.”
Chapter XVIII: Retaliation
“Rotten apples exist everywhere, and anywhere. Utopia is, quite frankly, well, utopic – even a perfect, virtual society will eventually develop individuals who want to stand out, no matter the cost. Some people call them criminals, others call them undesirables. Me? Hah, my friends!
I call them politicians!”
-Jolier Vazquez, in “Ethical Dilemmas of Infinite Possibilities – an interview.”
Morning came and went, followed by a warm, midsummer afternoon. The sun was high in the sky when Hephaestus and Altara decided to return to the forge. They
had fallen asleep on the ridge, numb after hours of stargazing; the night had weighed heavy for both of them, as they had shared things buried deep within their souls for the longest times. They left the outcropping feeling, if not necessarily relieved of their respective burdens, lighter on the weight they carried – for at least they no longer carried it alone.
They used a fast-travel post back to Arken, appearing back in the central plaza of the city. When they arrived, they were surprised at seeing the place devoid of people. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Hephaestus.
“Why?” Altara asked.
“Because last evening, when you were having your... conversation, with Libby, the plaza was the same,” Hephaestus shook his head, “Takes quite some to take people away from the marketplace.”
“Well, that some might just be that,” she said, pointing at a column of smoke somewhere nearby. “Look!”
Hephaestus turned, and saw the black pillar rising towards the sky. When he made to turn towards the forge, realization kicked in: “Altara, that’s coming from the forge’s whereabouts!”
The woman turned to face him, “Hephaestus, you don’t think...?”
Though she left the question unasked, Hephaestus understood her meaning, “I don’t know, but we better find out.”
Just as the previous evening, the closer they came to the forge, the more people they saw. This time, however, they weren’t watching two people fighting – rather, they were watching the fire raging at Bjornson and Baratus Arms and Armor. Acrid smoke stung their nostrils, as gusts of warm air wafted from within the furnace; the stench of burning acids, woods, and other materials assaulted their senses with every whiff of air they took; melting metal bubbled and crackled as it was reduced to useless slag, and all Hephaestus and Altara could do was watch in impotent rage as the raging inferno consumed itself.
***
“SON OF A BITCH!” cried Altara, kicking away a caved-in piece of thatch, “MOTHERF... RAGH!”
“Calm down, Altara,” said Hephaestus as soothingly as he could. Though he tried to remain calm, truth was, he was raging inside. Still, he reasoned, right now, what Altara needs, is a pillar. And he understood her feeling: The forge was, by far, more meaningful to her than it was to him; though it mattered to Hephaestus, to Altara, it was one of the last memories of Baratus. Now, however, it was but a pile of charred debris. “God damn it,” he muttered.
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 25
