Off-topic: Just had a strange idea, and wanted to see how it would go. This chapter isn't my usual quality, but I needed to flex my muscles slightly before moving on in Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair.
Outrealm Tales
Right choices
"You know why we are having this talk, don't you", the fabulously dressed man said to the youth, who had only few days ago discarded his old wardrobe in favor of a polo shirt and a pair of trendy jeans. They still felt very odd to him, hardly like the light stuff they had used in Ylisse; those garbs and garments had always abdicated looks in favor of mobility, and had no such restrictive qualities as his jeans did. The youth was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of wearing clothes that blatantly restricted his abilities as a warrior.
"I suspect so", he answered from curtly, leaning against one of the walls in the majestic house. Such had always been his manner, in Ylisse and now here, on this very strange realm where nothing was like it seemed. "This is about my actions concerning those ruffians, no?"
"Yes, Gerome", the man said, nodding heavily. His usually jovial face – which Gerome suspected to be but a mask among others - turned grim and frustrated. "You almost killed them. That is not how we do things here."
"But any society is better off without those dastards", Gerome retorted, trying to the astonishment he felt. Killing bandits and thieves was a vital condition for surviving in the world he had come from.
"I wholeheartedly agree, however… We don't kill them; we imprison them."
"Had my world been any different, I would think the same", Gerome admitted. "But after a long period of seeing the strong prey on the weak, it became a much better choice to simply kill them."
"Highly understandable, considering your world was ravaged by a zombie apocalypse."
"Is being ravaged", Gerome corrected. "And it was Grima that did it."
"Has been, will be; that's the thing about inter-dimensional travel, you never know", the man said, brushing off dust from his clothes. "And believe me; I know a thing or two about other dimensions."
Gerome shrugged his shoulders. He had no reason to doubt the man's words. The person, that Gerome had thought to be yet another playboy, knew a lot more than he let on. His sense of honor was rather awkward though; the man never killed, and he enforced those opinions on Gerome. It is a thing of this world, he had said to Gerome, and the wyvern rider found it hard to live by that rule. Whenever Gerome saw another mugging, robbing, or an assault, he was filled with rage, as the memories flooded his mind; torched homes, killed children lying around villages, and the memory of his father being assaulted by a bandit, his old spear breaking in the assault of the bandit's axe, and the inevitable end approaching his head like the grim sun of Gerome's world.
The wyvern rider grimaced heavily as the brunt of memories hit him again. He turned away from the man and faced the window, seemingly beholding the estate, but really only escaping that which lay in his past.
"I knew a man once, one who had sworn to not kill", the man said silently, not bothering to approach Gerome. "Time passed as he kept his promise, and he became admired by all for his steely resolve. But one day… he came to my house, downcast and distraught over something. Something really bad."
Gerome didn't move as he gazed far away, trying to avoid beholding memories long past.
"After a discussion it became apparent to me that he had, in a burst of anger, killed one of his arch-enemies. I was confused at first; he was the highest standard for us all, yet then it was he that broke our one absolute rule. He made me wonder what'd happen to us all."
Gerome jerked involuntarily, unable to stop listening to the man's story.
"But then the circumstances became clear; in the place where the two fought, there had been no others. No friends to shout him to back off, no enemies to request mercy. And so, when the anger took him, there was no one to withhold his hand. He has regretted that choice ever since."
Gerome stood silent, pondering; he could relate himself to the man in the story. No, he had not killed his archenemy, but many people's blood covered his hand. Justified or not, it was only a revenge for his father's death; thus, the blood began to hurt, and it burned.
Had it been justice? Gerome couldn't tell; he could not hope to choose right after so many different choices, all bad and worse.
So he kept looking forward, through the window, lacking answers.
"Redemption doesn't come cheap", the man said, and Gerome heard him walk toward the door. "But it is there, somewhere. So did that man believe, too, and he found it after years of seeking."
"Do you still know the man", Gerome asked gruffly. The man opened the door leading outside the room, and stopped.
"I do. He is my closest friend", he answered, and it became silent for a while in the room.
After a good while Gerome turned toward the man, waving his right hand toward the windows. "Tennis?"
"Sure, if you don't mind a beating", the man said, playfully smirking toward him.
"Always ready to squash a bat", Gerome stated matter-of-factly, and the man's eyes narrowed slightly, still not overshadowing his playfulness.
"Careful with that", he rebuked the youth, but couldn't hide the joyful glee in his eyes. "If you and Minerva hadn't stumbled on me while I was on my business, you would still be none the wiser for my persona."
Gerome snorted. It was true that the man's alter ego would've stayed a secret to them, if not for the fact that the caped crusader had pointed them to immediately contact a man named Wayne; the rest had been revealed by Minerva's acute sense of smell.
The man had showed Gerome much kindness and patience in teaching him about the world he now resided in, even while seeking for a way to return the wyvern rider to his world. Yet Gerome found himself having a selfish wish to stay here for a while longer, to become closer friends with the man.
Maybe it wouldn't last, but at least he would have a story to bring back to his friends.
A story about a man, and his mistakes; a story about right choices, and how far they would lead.
