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The fall felt endless. And maybe it had been.
When Ajax roused awake, he immediately felt a suffocating cold encase him. His mind screamed at him to stay aware, cognizant, vigilant. His heart beat far too quickly, too intensely, relaying a clear message.
Run.
The shortsword was still in his hand, somehow. Had he even been lying down? Had he fallen? Meaningless questions ran through his mind for a split second, before a new flash of fear pierced his core. An inhuman sound reached his ears, very faintly.
A shiver ran through him, ordering him to stay still and listen. It was like no other animal’s he had ever heard. Like no beast’s. He tightened his hold of his weapon. Liquid terror ran through his veins.
Ajax’s eyes scanned his surroundings methodically, with an analytical ability he didn’t know he possessed. He was surrounded by darkness, and not – only – in the way and shape he was familiar with. No light engulfed him or gave him solace, but there was something more. His gut felt seized by something more than dread, his heart by something more than horror. Despair was seeping into his bones, and it wasn’t something his mind had conjured for him. It felt like his surroundings themselves were trying to swallow him whole.
The “beast” he’d heard was in front of him now, he was sure of it. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear it, and more than anything, he could feel it. He could feel that whatever stood in front of him stank of despair and hunger, and his face whitened as much as the knuckles around his tiny (useless) blade.
Blood pumped in his ears, his body flashing danger signals as loudly as it could, his mind blank and yet screaming, but his flesh was frozen, rendered useless. Fear and hesitance and anxiety seized him all at once, and he knew he was being swallowed whole by the emptiness grasping at his limbs as much as he soon would be too by the beast in his face.
For a moment, he remembered his father. Ice fishing. Stories of heroes and warriors. Of slain monsters and beaten opponents.
His gut churned. The darkness fell back into motion.
He took a step back, pulling his arm back in a futile attempt to fight against his certain death. Fire raged inside him, and it thawed this new abyssal cold.
And then the monster was no more.
Ajax gaped, frozen. His arms trembled from the strength he’d been gripping his blade with. The sudden disappearance of his enemy left him in shock. Mind still in overload, skin still prickly with icy agitation, it all started to clear up. He had to be quicker, he dully noted, or he would lose himself forever. He wouldn’t make it. The sharp realization hit him like a searing knife through the stomach, but managed to clear his consciousness.
He suddenly noticed a crucial change in his surroundings. There was light.
Turning his tear-stricken face towards its source, Ajax almost sobbed. A robed figure, where he assumed the beast had been, bathed him in light, faint but real and warm. He’d been saved.
Silence trickled through the air as he shakily let out a ragged breath, a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid sickness oozing from the air making its way through his body. Whatever strength he had for a split second then left his body, and he dropped to the floor, never letting go of his weapon. He faintly registered looking down at his legs, and noticed how they couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Now that he thought about it, his breath hadn’t been cold at all. His skin didn’t register any signs of low temperature either. And yet, he’d felt so unbearably cold.
Her voice broke him out of his stupor.
“What’s your name?”
It was definitely a feminine voice, there was no mistaking it. He had expected it to sound warped, in some way, monstruous, to instill some manner of unease in him, despite it coming from his saviour. And yet… it felt like a breath of fresh air in the stifling stillness that surrounded him.
“A-Ajax, sir.”
Despite her light, he couldn’t see much at all. The garment he’d made out to be some kind of cloak appeared to be pure white, not covering her legs in their entirety. He couldn’t see all the way to her feet, but she didn’t seem too tall. She seemed absolutely out of place in this emptiness, he figured. He had no idea why, but she did. His musings were swiftly cut short.
“Nice to meet you, Ajax.” she said, curtly, her tone radiating calm and confidence.
And she sauntered away.
The boy blinked in disbelief, legs still shivering. A moment later, it clicked that she was getting further and further away from him, and he was being swallowed up by the darkness again. He tripped over his own feet in his attempts to get up, and hastily took off, running after her. He quickly caught up to her, not having let her get too far away from him in the first place, and she didn’t breathe a word about it. He assumed she had no problems with his presence for now, and stayed dutifully quiet, despite his urge to ask a thousand questions. Somehow, this stranger didn’t feel intimidating or odd at all. Her light flickered for a second.
“I’m Skirk.”
They fell into a mindless silence again, Ajax’s mind frantically attempting to stay aware of any and all shifts in his environment whilst keeping his innate curiousity at bay, so much so that he almost missed her introduction.
The light drew his attention again for a careless moment, and he instinctively stepped one inch closer.
Sometimes he stopped for a moment too long, beat a supposedly strong enemy too easily, and Tartaglia found himself sighing as he recalled his master. Comrade aside, he knew she’d been one of the toughest foes he’d had the privilege of facing (that he’d hopefully have the privilege of beating somewhere in the future). He bit his lip in sheer excitement as he imagined going up against his former master, in place of all these weaklings.
But, not one to reminisce, he quickly got back to the moment and task at hand.
However, sometimes he found himself comparing the strongest opponents his mind could recall, sizing them up, as well as himself, categorizing their strength and ability. And then he remembered his master, followed then by the traveler. And his mind always seemed to note something confusing.
His comrade… reminded him of Skirk. Or was it the other way around?