Alkor

He pondered for a moment over the conversation. The way she saw the world, right down to her admission that murder was such a casual topic of thought. Alkor's sunset gaze remained stoic, locked on the moonrise and undaunted by the prospect of his own mortality. He had faced death before. He had taken life. He had all but slept the corpse's sleep.

The chill that followed Setsuna was a familiar cold. A frightening cold, at least to those who were not used to it. The ashen taste in his mouth and the heat that still smoldered in his lungs offered no comfort. Alkor withstood it in other ways.

"A blade is meant to be heavy," Alkor asserted. "From the first moment you lift it, as the relative discomfort starts to fade; and until you become used to the weight, almost like it's a part of your arm. Some swordsmasters say that the blade is an extension of the self, and perhaps there's truth to that. If there is, then the blade should carry with it your conscience. Your respect for life. Your desire to do what is right. One should never lift their weapon unconscionably, or in a way that is thoughtless. The weight should not be an afterthought. It should be a constant reminder that it takes exertion of the self- a thought, a decision- to wield it. There was a time when I didn't think that. It would have been so easy to lose myself in the intoxicating power that comes with the ability to end life- to assert dominance over others, to terrorize the meek, or to exact my will against those who disagree with me. But that's when you lose your humanity. That's when everything beautiful about the life you have, ceases to be beautiful and becomes bleak. You're a human, Setsuna. A young girl. You were not born to be a blade."

Alkor took another hit from his pipe.

"I'm not saying I'm right, or that you're wrong. Perspective shapes the world, and growth is marked by your ability to see other perspectives and accept them without condemnation. I'm not here to tell you how to live, I'm just telling you that there are other ways. You're not trapped."

Rhythmic tendrils of smoke rolled from his nostrils as he stared up at the moon, pale light causing his orange eyes to glow eerily. 

"...though I would advise against telling most people that you've thought about killing them. I don't think that would make for a cheerful discussion."

What happens when I do?

A million or more questions across a million more lifetimes in a single sentence fell from her lips. The future was something people sought solace about even in reality. They paid psychics to divine it, pouring out fortunes. Even in ancient times, civilization looked to the skies, gazed into flame, and cast bones simply to glimpse the unknowable. Anxiety was this small girl, wondering what all of them had always wondered, and simply because no one had ever given her peace about it.

Anxiety was Alkor, who knew her pain all too well.

"Hesitation and fear are natural, guttural responses. Instinct is what keeps man alive when he does not know his enemy. Casting it aside is to invite danger, or worse." And worse had come for Setsuna already. She had crawled into that darkness of her own volition, and she had gone so far that she was uncertain if she could ever turn back. 

When she said that she bought one day in exchange for the next, he closed his eyes and rested his pipe in his lap. How viscerally true that statement was. Mankind was so quick to profit in the present with no regard for the legacy that they left to their descendants. The life of someone who was different, who was not part of your tribe, your family, your culture- that was a reasonable price in the eyes of many.

Or a price beneath consideration.

Have you ever taken a life?

He nodded slowly, solemnly. It was passing often that he went to the monument and looked at that name simply to remind himself that he had, that the life he had taken had value. For all of the evil that the man had done, he could never have the chance to change. He wasn't even given the opportunity. 

"I have," Alkor said. 

He had hesitated. He had considered his options. He came to the decision that it was necessary, and that his actions were just. But when reflecting on that decision, on his actions, he found that anyone would come to that same conclusion.  Any rational human being would call it justice, if only simply to wash away some of the guilt. 

Did he regret the decision, though?

"There are times in life when you are faced with difficult decisions," he said finally. "Further still, there are times when the decision is not really a decision at all. When you are forced to do something you don't want, because in not doing so you create worse consequences for yourself and others. Death is final. It is something that cannot be called justice in the real sense, because justice means that the collective benefits from the act. Taking the life of another human benefits no one. It does not make the world a better place. In life, your actions should always be directed toward improving the world for those around you, and therefore for yourself as well."

His Grandmother had said that to him.

"If there is absolutely no other choice..." He sighed, shuddered, and lifted his pipe again. After a drag, he exhaled a ragged breath. "But you should always, always start with looking for a choice. A better path. Always."

As @irisconcluded her appraisal, Alkor carefully withdrew his blade and stowed it at his hip. Her smile was bright, small though it was. Positively radiant. And her words matched the brilliance with no small amount of magnanimity. She wasn't like Alkor- beyond being reserved and quiet, perhaps. He respected and appreciated the way she treated him.

Like he was a person.

"It's because of what you and others do that this sword can help protect people. I'd be glad to speak with you more later." Alkor gave a bow as they were quickly swept back up in the tide of the meeting, and he was able to catch up on the proceedings. The information was vastly overwhelming compared to what he remembered. There had never been this much detail in the first few boss floors. Not that he could recall. Everything was simplistic by comparison. Fire bad. Ice bad. Now, there were multiple conceptual elements, and corresponding possibilities. It was labyrinthine.

He leaned forward, one hand stroking his chin in fascination as his amber gaze fixated on the annotated brief. The others spoke back and forth, considering possibilities as quickly as they could populate in his thoughts. "I've played MMOs in the past," he spoke up, "and other games with puzzles and mechanics that shifted based on where a player stood at a given time, or a symbol that populated overhead. Solving for specific combinations, or penalizing people for solving something incorrectly, or being generally out of order. I recall one, it was called Intemperance- you would get either a fire or ice marker, and you had to stand on the opposite color- then you would get the opposite debuff. As that was happening, you'd have to generally dodge several AoEs that were immediately lethal, and there were raidwide damage spells between those. I'm not saying this is anything quite that intricate, but it would be worthwhile to consider that paying close attention to positioning might be important."

Alkor blinked. He had spoken frankly, not introduced himself, not engaged with the group beyond the general stream of consciousness. That was nothing new.

"Ah, right... I'm a damage dealer," he added.

"Reality is often disappointing," he said from a place of vast experience, watching the woman as she approached. He said little else as she espoused her thoughts of self-worthlessness and even hate, all but affirming the demonization of her entire persona. She fumbled with her weapon in the way of a murderer for a moment, but relented. The blade settled on the ground, and she relieved him of his pipe.

Alkor studied Setsuna as she took an unprepared hit from the pipe and her eyes watered from the burn. She said that she wanted it to stop. She said that she didn't know how, but she wanted it. "It's not wrong for you to decide that you don't have to be the one who metes out justice," he told her. "You're a young girl with an entire life ahead of you doing something that even grown men trained for years struggle with. Humans aren't made for killing each other. It's not a natural thing. It's a perversion of the natural order, a sickness that seizes and corrupts and takes and takes until there's nothing left."

As she exhaled, he held out his hand. He didn't simply take back the pipe. Alkor waited for it to be returned.

"Taking from others doesn't give back to you. Material goods and wealth are fleeting things, just like human lives. Losing them, gaining them- only when a gift is freely given does it ever give both parties a sense of fulfillment."

He closed his eyes, smiling. 

"It happens when you want it to."

He watched and listened, because that was his nature. Be seen and not heard, learn, and adapt. The social anxiety had taught him to survive by making himself malleable but not conforming. In the group, yet not truly a part of it. He was working through it, little by little.

It was with several comments from starkly different perspectives that he finally got a sense of where he was, and who was around him. Ariel, who's information it seemed rivaled the direct source, felt that raid meetings should be more exclusive; and Freyd, who he had met briefly, thought that they were scant few for a boss encounter. Alkor had to muse about the state of things, and how anyone could stay married to the concept of exclusivity when their numbers had dwindled so vastly. Freyd had the right of it. They were few in number to be facing down a largely unknown threat.

And then, he was greeted by the one person who he knew would be in this place, as he had been here before. He offered @irisa soft smile and a bow as she called him aside. "I do remember," he said. "I was surprised when this was chosen as the venue for the meeting, but very glad that I would be somewhere that I knew someone."

She was either already famous or steadily coming up in the world if her shop was chosen as the venue for a boss meeting. Alkor was glad to see the woman doing well for herself. When she asked about his weapon, he nodded. "It's been tested and well proven now," he told her. "A powerful weapon with devastating attributes."

He drew the blade gently, offering it out to her with both hands for inspection. The name Witchfang loomed over it now, and the description that followed her changes to the weapon were clear. A Cursed, Demonic blade- perhaps not befitting a Knight? Or perhaps, a blade that only a Knight would be able to master.

"It's good to see you Iris. I thank you for the work you've done for me, once more."

He wasn't sure, as ever, if what he was saying was proper, but he hoped that it was.

He'd almost assumed people stopped trying to progress.

Everything had fallen into a pattern, a monotonous rhythm that felt almost comfortable in harmony with their discomfort. They did quests, they ate, they slept, and on fancy occaisons, the game deigned to throw social events at them. For a prison, it did a good job of keeping the masses sedated.

So when news spread that someone had defeated the Labyrinth Guardian, he was startled to hear it. The Frontlines were moving again. Those same Frontlines he had left behind, shadowed by the guise of death. That was then, though.

Alkor heard the call for strategy and preparation, and he determined that it was time that he stopped waging war against his inadequacy and start channeling his efforts in a more productive way. Namely, it was time to attend a meeting and to see some of the faces old and new who he would be fighting to protect.

Fighting for their freedom, and his own.

Ambling through the Town of Beginnings at dawn was a tedious venture. The shopkeeps who began and ended their day with the sun were just setting up, and the smell of baked goods wafted across his nostrils. Everything that felt so real, and now so familiar after all the time they spent there, just stood as a reminder of why their efforts were so important. How long would it be until they forgot what the real thing was like?

How long before they stopped caring if they ever saw reality again?

The First Sword pulled his hood back from his face as he pushed the door open, taking a quick look around. Did he know anyone? Did anyone know him...?

"I answered a question that you didn't want answered, because the one you asked is subjective.  There is no good answer. 'Enough' is quantified by a person's appetite. Yours is insatiable, because you've created a ceaseless hunger for justice. Enough will never be enough. Not until they're all dead, or you are, or this world ends." It would have been so easy to get caught in the trap of circular logic, the game that the victim creates to justify their abused mind's rationale. Alkor didn't have the ability to empathize with that. He was a machine when it came to logic. The correct answer, parsed quickly and efficiently.

Alkor looked down to the pipe and slowly lifted it in front of his eyes, balancing it across his palm. "For so long as you say to yourself, 'this is my duty,' then it is. None of them want to die. There's no longer order or a system in place to tell them how to distinguish right from wrong, and so, they determine that for themselves. But look back at what you said before too- your friends were your direction. You had no sense of self, no real sense of what you should do. How is that any different? You've taken it on yourself to determine what is right and what is wrong, and presumably no different from them, you've made the decision that what you're doing is wrong, but you're doing it anyway, and you hate yourself for it."

He closed his eyes, spun the pipe, and replaced it between his lips.

"I'm just saying, it's enough when you say 'when.'"

A puff. A drag. Billowing smoke.

"You say you have to become what you hate to destroy it. I say, you just have to make the effort to stop it from happening. That's enough for me."

Alkor sighed. He was the last person on earth who could help someone struggling with their identity, yet here he was, faced with someone who probably needed help more than he did. The way she was talking was indicative of something deeper than "take a timeout" or "go walk it off." But how many licensed therapists had logged into this game and gotten trapped? That would have just been too convenient.  "I can't sleep," she said, "I can't eat."

So the logical recourse was then to kill people?

He watched her with his pipe dragging smoke into his throat. The burn ached in a good way, the longing familiar and yet filled with a hollowness. It didn't give him any real comfort.  When she talked about the value of lives, though, he froze. Quietly, he lowered the pipe into his lap and listened, waiting patiently as she discounted his words and efforts as garbage. 

"You're playing a zero sum game with human life." He kept an even gaze hard on the girl, not screaming, not raising his voice, not getting angry. "This has worth, this does not. This is worth more than that. You know who valued lives that way? Hitler. Stalin. Mussolini. Tze Tung. Dictators. People who colored their enemies as having negative or no inherent value, instilling in the minds of a militarized people that when they took life, it had no meaning, and thus they ought have no emotional attachment to the prospect of ending those lives. You're not talking like a rational human being right now, Setsuna. You're talking like a child soldier."

He cast his eyes toward the floor.

How many times did it matter? How many times had he been late, admonished, but ultimately been able to continue on from it? How many times had it altered the very course of fate? He couldn't know, or he couldn't remember, but to put that kind of weight on something seemed like the effects of anxiety than anything firmly rooted in reality. It smacked of his panic attacks, things that seemed massive in the moment, but that held no real bearing on his life.

At the same time, it was an experience they did not share. Her Survivor's Guilt drove her to take on a mantle that burned her away at both ends. It eroded her sense of humanity to the point that she viewed herself as subhuman. He couldn't empathize with that. 

He'd never felt human to begin with.

"Everything," he intoned, repeating the word, savoring it. Alkor thought about the concept of everything, and what it meant to him. The word at its core was all-encompassing. It could be assigned great value, or small, all based on perspective. For Alkor, everything was a simple concept. It was small in scope, but vast in value. To Alkor, his Grandmother, his parents, and his sister were everything. If he died, their sadness would be a rift that could never be refilled; and if they were to die, some part of him would inevitably die with them. With that perspective, Alkor believed he had some notion of what "everything" meant to Setsuna. "Everything that matters, you mean," he said. It was not a question.

"Because it's not everything if you're still alive," he said, "and at that point, it's not really everything that matters, either. It's everything that you feel like matters." Alkor wasn't good at speaking smoothly or sugar-coating his words, but Setsuna wasn't really the type who liked to hear platitudes, so that was probably alright.

She mentioned the wall, and his thoughts traced back to the singular name that he'd placed there himself. Alkor wasn't fond of that memory, but it was a lesson that he'd learned, albeit with great difficulty. Would he kill again? Not so readily as Setsuna, perhaps. Actions had consequences. No matter how hard the girl wanted to mitigate them by "accepting her lot as a monster," the weight of her burdens only grew with each murder.

"Skeptical of a life you chose not to take, eh?" he looked at her quietly for a moment. "You've told me you're not proud of it, that you hate this thing you've become, but it's necessary.  It's something that you must do, something no one else can do. That its righteous, a duty that must be performed. How many excuses do you intend to make before you admit to yourself that there really is nothing else? That you've forgotten how to live a normal life, and that vengeance, that this crusade for justice is slowly consuming you?"

Alkor spun his pipe again. "Normal girls your age are worried about what they wear, or who they talk to. They're worried about grades, about social status, about boys, things like that. You drew the short stick and got stuck in here, and it is true that it's robbed you of the experiences you might have had outside. But to some degree, we all have a little bit of control, still. You have the choice to kill, or not to kill. Do you think that your friends, the ones you've called your true north, who were your direction- do you think they'd steer you down this path? Would they have you take life after life, not even once feeling fulfilled from it?"

Deftly, he took another drag. 

"You're fishing for purpose in a sea of blood, Setsuna. You're only going to find one thing there."

Alkor blinked. The woman mentioned something about how it wasn't an elaborate scheme to get the two of them alone, but that wasn't logically consistent anyway. Alkor had met the woman perhaps once before, and he certainly didn't know her well enough for anything like that. She was joking, obviously. He gave a 'heh,' trying to be kind despite not finding humor in the joke.

"I didn't figure you meant anything hostile by it," Alkor replied when she stated that she didn't mean to interrupt. "Honestly, there wasn't much business involved. She wanted to check out some kind of rumor, but it seemed like she had a lot on her mind. If it was urgent, it's no big deal, but it makes me wonder why she called me instead of someone else."

He didn't intend to infer that he wasn't reliable, and yet, to say that wasn't the case would be false. He reached up and scratched at his temple insecurely as he addressed the woman again. "I wouldn't ask you to pick up on her end, since there's no telling if it'd be safe or not. I'd be glad to escort you if you just want to be on your way, though."

Alkor glanced up, pushing aside his feelings of inadequacy. He folded his arms. "It's your call, really. Getting practically thrown at a strange man probably wasn't on your short list for the day."

She spoke of hell and of paradise, and Alkor wondered. Where did the barrier between the two begin to fray? Christian depictions of Heaven for thousands of years described it as Paradise, as a perfect place where pious souls spent eternity. Yet by contrast, those souls gave up debauchery and fulfillment in life to find their way there, casting aside precious experience, beauty, all the things that made life living. In pursuit of a dream, they spent their fleeting moments on Earth denying themselves humanity.

What was paradise? What was damnation? Did any of it matter?

Alkor looked again at the pipe, then up at Setsuna. He took the device between his teeth and pointed a finger in the young woman's direction. "We're always too late," he said. "By the time someone realizes what they want, it's already an afterthought to someone else. If you go by contemporary notions of early and late, you'll always be disappointed."

Society had constructed the abstract notion of time around something that it neither fully comprehended nor could it control. Existence flitted away like a small bird, people aged, things decayed. This place was the perfect example. It deteriorated, yet it still stood. Setsuna was a prisoner to that misconception. Alkor was too, in his own way.

"You can't save everyone," he shrugged. Those words stung him, too. There were people he would have saved. Times that he would have reached out his hand, but he hadn't. His eyes were glassy as he continued. "But killing people? That doesn't save anyone," he said. "I know, I know, you've made up your mind, you stared in the darkness too long, and you became the monster you wanted to slay."

Alkor knew who Setsuna was now, despite how hard she fought. She was harder on herself than anyone else. He stood up and walked toward her, placing a hand on top of her head. She deserved someone telling her that it was enough. He wished someone had done it for him.

"This is hell?" he asked, skeptical. "I don't see any monsters here. Just a cute girl who's been working too hard."

He withdrew his hand promptly, not wanting to overstay his welcome in her personal space.

"You should spend more time with other people, doing the things that make you happy. Not things that tear you apart inside."

"Normal people," she said again. The way she spoke inferred that she included him in that grouping, and Alkor smiled faintly. Setsuna was probably one of the only people who would ever place him into that category. He reached into his cloak and rifled around the contents of his inventory until his fingers rested upon the prize he sought, and when he found it, the long, rustic pipe spun deftly between his fingers and into plain view.

"Normal people," he repeated once more, whether or not to agree with her. With a quick motion of his left hand, the pipe was between his lips. He leaned forward and brought his right to the tip, igniting it. Eyelids half shut, he took several shallow puffs off the device to help it burn.

Not a place for the living? Setsuna truly had become jaded. He watched the smoke rise as though he were mesmerized, and the woman took to honing her blade. "This world of Aincrad is no place for the living," he responded, "and yet, every person trapped here is by proxy, alive. Is it so strange that in a prison, the jailed find another cell, perhaps one less appealing than the one they were assigned?"

Alkor didn't see it that way, of course. Setsuna was the one who prescribed the negative value to this place. Which left unsaid that she assigned herself negative value. "Not a place for the living," she had said, and yet, she spoke as though she belonged.

He took a deeper drag.

The pipe spun quickly again after he removed it from his lips. He held the heat deep in his lungs, watched the woman work her blade. Alkor considered what he might say to someone who in her own mind, was no better than dead.

He exhaled. 

"I'm not much of a thinker," she said. He had no choice at that. His lips cracked into a proper grin, and he laughed and choked out smoke as coughing began unbidden. Thinking was all that Alkor knew how to do. He didn't know how to stop. Aincrad was a prison, certainly, but Alkor's mind was a life sentence that he had been serving since the very beginning.

"Imagine," he said slowly, recovering his breath, "that every waking hour, you were haunted by something. You ran from it, but it pursued you relentlessly. You reasoned with it, but you had nothing it wanted. You begged for it to stop, but it refused. Then you found a place where it couldn't quite get to you. You could see it, hear it, but it couldn't reach you. For a brief moment, you were safe from the monster."

Alkor stared down at the pipe in his hands. They weren't shaking for once. He sighed.

"Everyone wants to go to Heaven," he told her, "but if Hell is quieter, I think I'd like it there better."

He didn't seem surprised to find someone in this place. 

It may have been more accurate to say that it was more surprising that whoever or whatever was here did not immediately attack him. Alkor was of course glad for that fact, but he seemed more preoccupied with the state of the world around him than anything else. He came here for the view, for the ambiance that was the silence at the end of the world. To be alone with his thoughts.

Most people came to places like this out of a sense of dread fascination. Fear, loathing, a reminder that they were alive and that this was the alternative. For Alkor, it was one of the most sacrosanct places in this world: one that while many people knew of it, few cared to visit.

But of course, Setsuna was like him in many ways. She didn't find beauty in the same things most people might. He began at one stage to wonder if she found it in anything at all really, what with the way she had devalued her own life. It was always sad to see others who didn't know their worth, because Alkor had never discovered his own, either.

It made sense that she found her way to this place, slaughtering her way through the mindless dead.

When she addressed him, Alkor glanced up and leaned back against the wall behind him. "Normal people don't like places like this," he explained. "It's quiet. I like places where I can think."

The sky was a fire, eternally lit over the ashes of civilization. Orange and red hues bled across the mottled, dusty landscape where trees once thrived and Elves nourished and revered the land. Where trees like jade once stretched toward the sky, now only the husks of buildings and whispered memories of a time long lost remained. Alkor stared out at the ruin with vacant eyes. 

This was a truth, unmitigated by the system's proclivity for beautiful lies. The first in a series of grim reminders that their fate was controlled by a power outside of their realm of control, and with each day that passed, this frozen frame of reality came closer to fruition. It did not spread from this place, yet as they struggled, every waking moment brought them closer to this Terminus.

Yet it did not disturb Alkor.

He was a man who had never learned to love life, and while he did not want for death, neither did he fear it. The lone Knight sat in quiet contemplation of a silent Armageddon, an Apocalypse that had come and gone and left in its wake this cryptic beauty. Slowly, even as it clung together, it wasted away.

Impermanence. 

The nature of this place, this world, even the world beyond Aincrad. There was solace in the somber revelation that not even their Virtual Prison could escape entropy. Alkor looked around at the animate dead, the creatures that coupled with this place to write the horror fiction that Aincrad's programmers seemed so desperately proud of, and sighed.

Somewhere nearby, they had chanced upon a victim. Or perhaps, there were victims? Whether it was an event or a Player that now stumbled into misfortune, his ennui now teetered on apathy, and he found himself slackjawed. He almost lost sight of the danger.

"...."

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"-this particular situation calls for some urgency."

He wasn't sure of what she meant, but Alkor managed a slight shrug in response. "Yeah, if you say so." No one was telling him what was going on exactly other than that it had something to do with the Sanctuary situation Lessa had explained to him, with what he vaguely recalled to be some kind of Kool aid cult. If that was the case, he had to assume that these women were invested, and there were some details that probably skirted the line of personal privacy. He knew better than to press his luck asking questions.

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"Let's talk over here. Alkor, you don't mind?"

Realistically, it didn't matter if he did. Thom had always found it funny when people indulged in pointless niceties like that. "Do you mind?" They never waited for the response. And it was always assumed that you didn't. 

He didn't, but he always wondered what would happen if he did. Would it upset some unspoken balance in the stars? Why was he wasting time thinking about that? Oh, right- because it was easier to preoccupy himself while they talked than trying to wait patiently.

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 "I'm sorry, but I have to go." 

"Wait, what-" Alkor started to ask, but she was not mentally present, and seemed hellbent. 

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"Kyra, why don't you stay with Alkor."

Okay, but that part didn't make sense. Why would she suggest leaving the woman with him? They didn't know each other. 

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"I'm not entirely sure that would be appropriate," 

Well, she seemed more agreeable than Lessa when it came to some things, at least! They agreed on that point. "Yeah, uh, I don't really- we don't-"

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 "It would mean a lot to me." 

And the war was over before it ever began. When it came to sentiments like those, women (especially Lessa) threw them out like aces-in-the-hole. You didn't need facts or logic when you appealed to someone with your whims. That was why they were the hardest kind of person to deal with. Alkor bit his lip and glanced sidelong at the woman, assessing her gear, from garments down to her weapon. Was she properly equipped for the floor they were on, let alone anything that might happen? 

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"I can't say I understand what Lessa meant by that."

"I gave up trying to crack that code a while ago," Alkor shook his head, shrugging. "Either way, did you just meet her here to relay a message? It might be safer if we get you back to the safe zone."

...had he heard that right?

The way she talked about not leaving her house reminded him of life back in the real world for him. The way it had been for several years since his Grandmother's health declined. It was hard for him to picture Lessa as the kind of person who could succumb to depression, but then, Alkor had to admit his pool of things to compare it to was woefully limited. He had little choice but to believe her- especially because if he didn't, wouldn't that be ignoring what was essentially a cry for help?

...but who in their right mind would come to him for help??

I don't even know what Paradise looks like anymore.

Did you ever? He wanted to ask, mostly for frame of reference, but it seemed like a bad time for him to be excessively literal. Instead, when he opened his mouth to speak, he instantly shut it again. Just in time for her to apologize. Twice.

"It's fine," he started to say. But it wasn't. Or it didn't feel like it was. This wasn't the bold, confident Lessa who had grown from when he first met her into someone who could hold her own, who didn't need him or anyone else. This was a hollowed out shell wearing her face. He could hear it in the timidity of her words. In the meekness with which she apologized, profusely, time and time again. She was worried about everything, anything, especially in this moment about being a burden to him.

Lessa had explicitly told him that she wanted them to be equal, to be friends. He was sure from that alone, nothing was fine.

But Alkor wasn't the one who could fix it.

"If it's something you're worried about, it should take priority," Alkor said. "Don't worry about me, I understand." He paused. Did he? No- probably not- but he could exhibit some sympathy. "We can catch up another time, if need be."

Alkor stared blankly down at the man who tried to cut his throat only moments before, head tilted and expression blank. These events had become more prevalent since... when had it been? They had been trapped so long that his sense of time had become skewed. The pirate was leering up at him angrily, trying to free himself, slashing wildly at the air as the blonde haired youth kept a foot firmly planted on his chest.

"I just wanted to relax," the Knight-Errant muttered to no one in particular.

"Ye'll be able to relax soon enough!" The pirate huffed. "When yer dead!"

The golden eyed youth sighed. This type of person had too much energy, and a terrible attitude too. They were the hardest type to handle in his experience. "Look," he told the man, "I'll level with you. I didn't know there was going to be a fancy party on this ship, let alone a shakedown. If you just look the other way and leave me alone, I won't make you regret picking me to jump at. What do you say?"

"I say you better not let me up, scallywag!" the man huffed indignantly. "I'll kill ya!"

Alkor shook his head.

"Can't say I didn't try..."

Taft - Floor 11 Settlement, the Weathered Wayfarer Tavern

Nestled in a far flung corner of the city stood the Weathered Wayfarer, a hovel so easy to miss that it often went forgotten by the many players who passed it by in their hurry toward the Frontlines. Alkor was one of its few frequent customers for that fact alone. The only real denizens were non-player characters who were programmed to know, and even then, their routine found them there at certain times of day. It was the perfect place to go when one wanted to be alone. He ordered his usual drink, a lighter pilsner hopped just right so that it was more refreshing than it had a bite. It seemed to always surprise him, the lengths with which developers had gone to get the precise details about even the smallest things to match up with real life. He'd had the genuine article only once in his life, and beyond that, no attempt to replicate it had ever been successful.

None of them, save for the distinct flavor notes programmed into this game.

Part of him felt at ease with the flavor that washed over his tongue, and he felt the urge to close his eyes and lose himself in the experience. It was always like that. There was a moment when he felt completely calm, without a single thought. Then the guilt struck, and everything that followed began to snowball. It prompted him to order another, just to try to replicate the initial response. The only thing he ever learned was that the law of Diminishing Returns held painfully true, especially when the alcohol brought with it no impairment. Yet again, he agonized over the loss of inebriation as a form of escape. It was like the world was designed to punish anyone who sought to run away from their problems by compounding them, over and over.

"Perfect design, if you were trying to get a bunch of gamers to commit suicide," he muttered offhand, to which one of the barmaids perked up curiously and examined him. It was like the word was enough to catch her attention, but not enough to prompt her to do anything about it. She slipped away just as Alkor noticed her gaze, and he sighed. "There's absolutely nothing more droll than a world that pretends to care about your well-being while actively trying to undermine it." That was something that everyone in this world could relate to, he imagined.

He just never saw a good reason to confirm the suspicion. His second drink arrived less quickly than the first, which gave him time to reflect on how sober he really was. After a gulp of the second serving, he didn't bother to reevaluate. He could tell that there was no change- there was never a change. "You know, people say its better when you drink with friends," one of the older members of the bar's retinue of servers leaned on the table suddenly, and Alkor glanced up at him. "You look like you could use the company. Why don't you call someone over?"

In retrospect, he probably could have. He did have friends- people actively online and available, who had told him that they would be there if he needed them. The problem went beyond that. He'd never been good at asking for help. He never asked for help. Alkor wasn't about to start now, in the middle of the Aincrad incident, all these years later. No- this was like every other problem. He'd find the solution. Alone.

Or at least, he thought he'd be alone. Bars were sort of unpredictable in terms of who was going to show up, and when.

He was alone for some time after that, watching the horizon with a million new questions racing through his mind. The sun dipped behind graying clouds as it burned a deeper orange and cast his long shadow back toward civilization, where his thoughts drew him back unbidden. "Why would I even care about her name?" he asked as if expecting an answer. "She came up to me out of nowhere and talked down to me like I was some kind of potential jumper on top of a building." The more he threw his contempt at the thoughts as he collected them, the more that they burned. Or was it that they stung? Everything she said in the moment had been a dagger, driving toward some deep, unspoken weakness that he kept cloistered away and out of view. "If anything, I just want to know who I'm cussing out. Yeah, that's it. I need to have a target for all this anger."

And for a moment, that feeling was good. The focused rage exhilarated him, precisely until the moment when it burned out. There was nothing beneath the surface to catch fire, and so, there was nothing more to burn. Alkor was left alone with the realization that he was not angry at the woman. His eyes flickered one way, then the other, and his face started to heat up. "...fuck this." He threw up his hands, not so much in defeat as frustration.

The trek into Town was long and filled with grunts and growls as the swordsman clenched and relaxed his fist over and over. He wanted to hit something.

"Woah there," an NPC held up his hands as Alkor barreled through him, completely oblivious to the world around him. Everything that wasn't his destination didn't occur to him. The hand on his shoulder called him back from the red abyss that swallowed his vision, and the young man waved his hand to catch the Player's attention. "You need to watch where you're going, man," the boy warned. "You might have run into something worse than me if you weren't paying attention. Lucky break this time, though."

Alkor fixed his gaze on the younger man pointedly. Was there a reason for this? Had the game randomly selected him for an event? Was Cardinal toying with him based on his emotions? "You could say you're sorry, at least," the youth joked, laughing off the intensity of Alkor's stare. "Not that I need an apology mind, but man, you seem really worked up."

"Picked a bad day for this conversation," Alkor managed to murmur.

"Yeah, well, no day's all that great for getting run over by an adventurer," the youth retorted. Suddenly, Alkor realized his error. More of the same. So entranced by his own anger, he failed to empathize with the plight of those around him. After a lengthy sigh, he hung his head.

"... yeah, you're right," he admitted, "my bad." 

"Is that why you let them die?" he asked quietly, not breaking eye contact.

"Yes," she answered, her smile much softer, and perhaps sadder than before. He could not tell. "Because their feelings matter. Because they are allowed to lose all hope, and to give up, if that is the answer that they found themselves. Life is like that. Not everyone comes to the same conclusion, but every conclusion is valid. Even if we don't agree with it."

She was sad, Alkor realized. Every death she'd watched, this woman had likely wanted to stop. She wept for people who she barely knew, some who she only met in the fleeting moments before the fall. The knot in his chest wound tighter than before. "But they can never- that is, what I mean is, if they're dead, they won't ever have a chance-"

"They don't want one," she placed a finger to his lips. "Not everyone has that kind of fortitude. Not everyone has the strength to live." At that, he was speechless. So many others in Aincrad were passionate, vehement even that living was the most important thing that a Player could do. This woman was the first to say anything to the contrary, and the first to validate the feelings of those who threw away their lives. "But you do," she changed the subject and shifted the conversation to the most painful thing possible. "I wasn't sure, at first. That was why I offered to be there for you, if it was the end."

"And you would have cried for me," he said. It was not a question.

"LIke I have for all the others," she confirmed.

"How do you carry that weight by yourself?" he asked.

"The same way that you carry whatever guilt keeps you from jumping," she said. That same, tragic smile remained. "Because no one else can. No one else will. And that makes it my responsibility."

He was in awe of the woman who he had never met, who's name he did not know. Without being asked, she had seamlessly recognized his fault and accepted it. "Responsibility," he repeated the word. It was something that had been beaten into him as a child, mentally and emotionally, to the point where he could do nothing but understand. Responsibility was the mortar that held together every foundation. "...yeah, I think I understand that," he muttered, barely a whisper.

"I'll give you a tip, since I like you," she said with a wink. Alkor blinked. "There's a social club in the Town of Beginnings. Kind of a place for people to go and relax, its designed to serve a purpose that the team thought Aincrad was sorely in need of. Its called the Halfmoon Hideaway, and a large portion of it is escorts for men and women who don't have an emotional connection or feel deprived of physical warmth. They serve tea, but food service isn't really part of the operation."

Alkor blinked. "You think I'm starved for affection?" she laughed at that question. 

"Maybe," she teased. "but, its where you're going to find me if you want to learn my name." She reached out and gave him a pat on the head, which he swatted quickly away. "And I'll admit, I'm kind of interested in what you'll decide. So I'm taking a big risk here." The woman pushed her lip out slightly and pouted.

"Yeah, I'll keep it in mind," he waved her off. "What made you come over here in the first place?" he asked.

"Maybe its the fact that I have a keen eye for lonely people," she shrugged, "or maybe, I'm just tired of coming here and only meeting people who jump."

Theme

"Have you ever thought its because the things you say are twisted and difficult to respond to?" he huffed and looked away from her, back toward oblivion. "You tell me that I'm basically a dead man walking and expect me to have a good and easy answer ready for you. Who does that?"

"For a normal person, the easy answer would be to deny it, not argue with it and get defensive," she mused. There was a certain delight in the way she smiled at him. "You're not like the others, though. Not like the ones who jumped, I mean. There's something that makes you hold on. There's a reason that you fight, even if it isn't for yourself. I think that makes you much more interesting than they were."

He shot her a venomous glance. "It's shitty to speak ill of the dead," he warned her, "even if I didn't know them, I can still get angry for them."

"My, my," her smile thinned and she looked at him from behind her hand, her eyes darker than before, more mysterious. "And here I was, unsure whether or not there was any fire in you at all. It seems I owe you an apology."

"Apologize to the people who you let jump," he snorted indignantly. "Not your responsibility, is it? That's just indolent." 

"Careful, corpse," her voice sharpened slightly, "you're not the only one who can get angry."

"You want to get mad at me for saying you could have done more?" he turned and jabbed a finger into her chest suddenly, pressing. "Where's the lie? What's wrong with telling someone who chose to not save a life when they had the opportunity that they did-"

"What if they didn't want to be saved?" she asked, unblinking. "You're so busy worrying about what you think is right, about the things you are passionate about, that you let that fire consume the struggles of others. There's comfort, sometimes, in death. What of people who are suffering? People who have lived long lives, and now can no longer recall the joys that they knew along that long road? What gives you the right to determine what gives their lives meaning?"

"Don't you talk to me about meaning," he exploded. "Don't you fucking dare tell me about people who can't recall joy, what do you know about it!?" Her words struck him even deeper than before. He could feel the ache in his heart as she reached up and cupped his face.

"Ah, there it is," she said in a hushed voice. "The anger. The despair of a lost child."

His hand moved on its own, and he struck her, open handed across the face. "Don't you patronize me," Alkor hissed.

"My apologies, I went too far," she sighed. "But I wanted to talk to you. The real you. Someone who can get angry. Someone I can tell feels something."

"Yeah, well," Alkor gnawed on his lip for a moment. "I'm sorry. I should not have hit you. That was wrong of me."

She shook her head. "No, no," she reached out and took his hand. "I don't think either of us is wrong for feeling anything," she emphasized that point, "but I do think we are wrong when we diminish the feelings of others with our own. Does that make sense?" He nodded. Recently, he had a conversation with Lessa about her feelings, and how at times, his own got in the way of her being herself; and the same was true in reverse. He gave a quiet nod.

Aincrad was a lonely place. Trapped as they were, the Players could interact with one another, but no touch shared between them could be considered "real." Not in anything but their minds. They could not hear the voices of their loved ones or feel the tears that were shed in their absence, and they could not know the fates of those who were beyond the immaterial barrier, just out of reach. For Alkor, the anxiety associated with the possible imminent loss of his grandmother drove him to the brink time and again. It was his unseen battle, something that went far beyond the conflict that he outwardly manifested. Now he sat on the edge of the first floor, staring into the abyss of clouds that called his name faintly, each time he wondered if a single leap would reunite him with that woman. 

His fingers tapped against the dirt beneath him like keys on a piano, playing a maddening rhythm that reflected the staccato of his heart. Each time he came close to a decision, the people who he would leave behind surged back into his thoughts. The friends he'd made- whether or not he would meet them again on the other side- those interactions were real. Even if their flesh was not. His palms dug at the grass each time, penitent. He'd made promises to people who he had never met, who he hardly knew, to stay alive. It was those bonds that kept him here, fighting a battle he constantly felt he was losing.

"You're thinking about jumping, aren't you?" the voice did not startle him as much as it should have. People came to this edge frequently, and more than often, those people jumped. "I know when people are thinking about it. You're not the first one I've seen."

Alkor grunted indifferently. "How many have you convinced to stop?"

"It's not my job to stop anyone," the woman walked to his side and smiled down at him. Alkor did not look up. "May I sit?"

"Go ahead," he gestured dismissively, a flick of his wrist.

"I've seen a few of them jump," she continued as she took the spot next to him, but not too uncomfortably close. Alkor watched the clouds float past below, oblivious to the plight of their world. "It's not all that scary. Maybe a few seconds of terror, then nothing." His gaze moved up to study the woman. Her hair was long and dark, and her eyes were blue like the sea, deep, thoughtful, and distant. She looked to him and her smile returned. "I'll watch you too, if you like," she offered, not unkindly. "It's always sad, but then- no one should die alone."

Those words stung him like a slap to the face.

"You're a weird one, aren't you?" he asked. "Who does that? Who asks someone if they want an audience for their suicide?"

"This isn't the world we're from," she shrugged. "The old rules don't apply here. What qualifies as kindness is different. If you had the chance to be with a loved one or a pet when their time came, wouldn't you want to be there?"

He started to speak, but thought better of it. There were words that were too complicated to speak, and they died in his throat. "...I guess I would," he managed to respond. "But no, I don't plan to die today."

"No one does," she folded her hands delicately. "Before you ask, no, I'm not going to tell you my name. And I don't want to know yours, either." Alkor blinked as she spoke those words. "I think the anonymity is better for things like this. Secrets shared between strangers. You know? I can't tell anyone you know that I saw you- here."

"And I can't tell people that you watch people kill themselves. Quid pro quo, huh?" 

"Hmmm... is that it, I wonder?" she placed a finger to her lips, thoughtful, then smiled playfully at him. "No, it's because what I see right now is a corpse. One that doesn't have any life in it. Someone who doesn't want to fight. I don't want to know another name that's just going to end up on the monument."

Alkor blinked at her incredulously. "You said I'm the strange one," she chuckled, "but you're not saying anything to deny what I've said. I think that makes you much stranger than me."

Put me in as casual, just like my flings. ;)

His armor subtly clicked as Alkor took a seat and listened to both men in turn. It was good that Morningstar recognized the shortcomings of energy for long term engagements so early. That economy only exacerbated with level, as strong Sword Arts still heavily taxed the limited pool of resources that Players had to call on. As a DPS, micromanagement like that was key for survival. The young man was well on the way. He nodded by way of agreement, and did not move to correct or call to question anything that the first youth had said.

When his eyes moved to the other, he understood implicitly. Remiel knew the constraints that his inexperience placed on him, even if he was not aware firsthand of the danger. A pragmatic outlook would serve him well in the trials to come. "Willingness to die is good for our undertaking," he folded his hands. "But never mistake that with a desire to die. It sounds like you'd rather avoid death, and that's a good thing. Hold on to it. Instinct will serve you well in this world."

Alkor cracked his knuckles in response to the question about Dragons. "...I've seen a few," he answered honestly, "and it's possible that there are more. In fact, I'm sure there will be, but remember that it takes more than slaying a Dragon to be a Knight."

He still remembered when the Fae Queen laid her sword on the crown of his head, and the words she spoke. This young man had reminded him of his vow, and what it meant to be the First Sword of Aincrad. "That said, I'd be glad to help you fell some of the beasts and take a few steps forward on your journey toward Knighthood, Remiel," and he looked back to Morningstar. "What do you say? Dragon Adventure?"

He didn't know either of the young men, and it sounded like they weren't incredibly familiar with players outside of their sphere of influence. He gleaned that from how they introduced themselves. Alkor had considerable doubts that either of them would know much about the Frontlines, or the names of Players who frequented boss battles, or who were believed to have died in them. With some relief, he accepted the handshake offered by the boy named Remiel courteously. "Alkor," he told them both at once, "and you don't need to call me sir, I'm not so much older than you are."

Alkor looked from one to the other in turn before he continued to speak. Allowing for the other two to state all of their thoughts and concerns and get everything into the open before they began would be a solid foundation for teamwork, which was a skill Alkor was still learning; but he had more understanding of it than the average player, since he'd done hardcore content in other games, and even fought bosses in Aincrad. He would subtly use that wisdom now, and hope that it would keep the other two alive while simultaneously allowing them to learn and grow. Listening to them, he was glad he'd been there when he was. I rarely leave the town of beginnings was not an ideal thing to hear, but he wasn't going to reprimand Remiel for it. Without taking significant risks, there could be no reward.

Him being there, that was the insurance policy. If the lad died, it would be on Alkor's conscience. Even if he wasn't going to tell them so.

"Alright, Morningstar," he said as he locked eyes with the man briefly, then looked to the other and did the same, "Remiel," he committed their names and faces to memory. "So, neither of you have much experience beyond the first floor, but I've heard some rumors that this quest only originated on the floor after well after it was cleared. What that means is the learning curve could potentially be pretty high. I don't say that to scare you, but what I do want to let you know is that there's going to be a good amount of teamwork involved to reduce risks and increase our chances of success. What I want to do briefly is discuss strategy, if you guys are amenable to it. Tell me what you're good at, and what you'd rather not do if possible. I'll use the information you give me here to help work out our plan of attack as we get closer to where we're going..."

He gave a gentle smile, then continued. "...which will be to the northwest," Alkor confirmed. "It's great to meet you both, and I look forward to working together with you."