Alkor

"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."

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"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."

The shadows of his hood obfuscated the top half of his face as he watched from across the room. He'd collected the same quest recently and decided to scour the town for other players who chanced on the same thing., but he hadn't expected it to happen quickly. While nursing the ale that sat on the table in front of him, he listened to the conversation just to be certain before he approached. Basic looking weapon, same for the armor... just by looking, Alkor gleaned that this player was a lower level, and the risks involved with the quest were fairly high if he tried to take it on by himself. His jaw set a bit.

Part of him wanted to leave it alone. If he did nothing, there was a chance that the man survived on his own and felled the beast. If he did, he would go on to follow the quest wherever it led, possibly toward further danger. Alkor knew that if he did not step in here, he was not doing anyone in Aincrad any favors and they were at risk of losing another potential asset to the frontlines. Before he had time to weigh the decision at all, another person stepped forward and asked to join. He said several words that immediately made Alkor's decision for him.

I've just started actually playing...

He stepped up from the table, leaving the drink behind. Alkor moved like a shadow through the crowd and took up a position flanking the other two, glancing down to confirm what was written on the paper. Just as he surmised, they had accepted the same quest. "Hey there," Alkor gave a stiff, quick wave as he made himself known to the group without skulking for too long. He peeled the hood away to reveal his blonde hair and golden eyes, which accentuated his smile as he chanced a step closer.

"I just happened to overhear the details of this quest, and I recently chanced across the same one." The details of his strength and level were a non-issue, so long as he didn't join their party, he figured. While his equipment outmatched theirs and his abilities might speak for themselves, there was always the chance that the other two would not put things together until later. He decided to stake things on that. "If you'd be so inclined, I'd like to go along with you. Three heads are better than two, and all that?" he told them, looking from one man to the other.

The reality was, Alkor felt responsible now. While one of them had a 50/50 shot of surviving, the other's chances were much more grim if he was fresh out of the Town of Beginnings. He wasn't going to have two new additions to the monument on his conscience.

His gaze fell on Morningstar. "You said you might have an idea of where to go...?"

Thread Complete!

total word count: 13610
base exp: 2265

alkor | t7: 15885xp
lessa | t8: 18120xp
baldur | t10: 22650xp

How many times had he reached the same conclusion?

How many times had it tasted just as bitter?

The reality for Alkor was that he was a pyre, a bright burning furnace that fueled itself with singular passion- but the fire burned monochromatic. Where so many others put on a brilliant display across the entire rainbow, his own worth was grayscale. He could be hotter than all of them, but never as beautiful.

And he couldn't even look away from the fire to care about the difference. That heat called to him, always drew him back, and ever burned him. The things Baldur said, Alkor knew. For so many people, Alkor was "enough," and yet, for the people who mattered most, he never was.

Now, to take away that definition, damning though it was, and replace it with the opinions of his peers in this world... 

The song that played in the beat of their bokken was a solemn one, rife with staccato sounds filled with that zest for life that Baldur beat back at him with. It was a tragic melody with just enough hope to perfectly flavor the despair. 

The words sounded so hopeless as they formed on his tongue. "Because I don't want it," he finally admitted. It was like the floor broke underneath them when he finally spoke his mind. "I don't want to be anything to any of them. I don't want the responsibility that comes with it. I dont want to be let down again by the people closest to me. I don't want to let them down again."

It was childish, and yet, no one had ever taught him how to be a man.

Alkor had subsisted for so long in rage and defiance of expectation, that Baldur was ultimately right. He kept cracking away at the stone, hopeful that there would be nothing left at the end. Because when there was nothing, then nothing could hurt.

Simple defiance. That was what responded to Baldur. And perhaps, that was the most deeply disappointing response Alkor could have given. Their stubbornness was evenly matched, and finally, battered, they rebuffed one another.

Finally, he sighed.

"The only answers are the ones I find on my own," he asserted. "Until I learn to walk, I'm not going to try to fly."

Those words had a deeper meaning that he'd internalized, just as Baldur surmised.

I can't even accept myself. I'm not ready to trust anyone else.

"But this is a journey that doesn't give me the luxury of searching aimlessly," he flipped the wooden sword in his hand as Baldur leaned on his own weapon, and he offered the hilt to the Samurai. "I'm joining the frontlines again." Alkor confirmed at last what so many people were probably now wondering. "Because I'll never grow without being challenged, and because I'll never have the chance to live a proper life if I don't fight for freedom, just like everyone else."

"Mmm..."

There was wisdom, certainly, in the allegory of the student and Master. The growth Alkor had found over the span of several years in Aincrad could be measured in his self-awareness, if not the elegance of his movements. Truth be told, Alkor found function for more important than form, and that was why he adopted movements that responded to the situation, not to his understanding of technique. As Bruce Lee had once said, "be formless, shapeless, like water."

But Alkor's flow was anything but gentle and flowing. It was turbulent, like the cascading falls that eroded rock and reshaped the earth. It was force, it was pressure, it was passion, and it was always directed forward. Forward, to where it could blast through and carve a path, but never look backward. Baldur could take time to sheathe his own blade and help to hone the blades of others. He had the capacity to put away the weapon.

When Alkor reflected inward, the weapon chipped away at the imperfections, but he found no comfort or solace.

That degree of difference between them was a gulf. Baldur was a vast sea, calm, gentle, inviting. By contrast, Alkor was an ocean that had long since dried up and had nothing to give- if it had ever had anything at all. It was that which he'd told Lessa, and when Baldur mentioned Mari, his expression did not seem to change.

Alkor continued to stare at the floor between them, almost like there was a ghost staring back.

"People are often looking for answers about themselves in others," the younger man agreed. "But the answers I'm looking for can't be found anywhere else but inside of me. And every time I answer a question, I'm afraid none of the answers will satisfy me."

They hadn't satisfied anyone else. Why should they satisfy him? What did it truly mean to be happy?

"I told Mari that I couldn't help her. I couldn't be what she expected me to be. I couldnt save her. But no one wants to hear that," Alkor said. "Everyone wants the hero. They demand the fairy tale ending. When you categorically deny its existence, then what?"

He sighed as he lifted his weapon again, into a mid-level guard as he offered his left side to Baldur. 

"I don't mind being the villain," he said flatly. "if my harsh or even cruel words or actions drove someone to find their own truth, to grow, and to heal- no matter how difficult that journey was- then I would gladly be the antagonist in their story."

Alkor still remembered the day Mari returned to find him alive, and how she had expected everything to go back to the way it was. The hollowed out shell of a woman broken time and again not only by loss, but by her own attempts to cope with that loss by lashing out. Alkor told her that he couldn't be what she wanted, because it was true. It was his own truth. 

But unlike Alkor, Mari found support. Like Lessa had Jomei and even Bahr at one time, Mari it seemed found Baldur. It was hollow, perhaps, but there was warmth in it. Alkor felt at ease knowing that this man had been the one to reach out his hand to the woman.

"When I came to this world, I did struggled to be someone. Anyone. I lied to myself about who I was, because for so long, I had no idea."

Alkor was not well adjusted. He was not a strong person, and his sense of identity was virtually non-existent. He struggled through daily tasks and found meaning only in challenging himself again and again, looking for answers to questions that should have been simple. Every answer brought with it new questions. He was like a child, bewildered, looking at the world for the very first time.

"In many ways, I still don't," he said finally. "But I'm not going to lie about it anymore, or pretend to be something I'm not to fit into anyone's mold."

He raised his gaze toward the man and his golden gaze burned just a bit darker than before- but burn it did.

"So, I suppose what I'm really asking..."

With a long sigh, he finally voiced his concern. It wasn't a question Baldur could answer for Alkor about Alkor, but perhaps Baldur's own experience could give him insight.

"...is anything ever good enough?"

Every breath came and went in an instant. 

The same was true of openings, of opportunities, of a single moment in time that could change history. The average man thought nothing of the forces that perpetuated his life. The steps he took, the air he breathed, the water he drank- these things were natural, common, expected, even calculated. But what would happen without one of them? These were the questions not often asked, and more often than not, their answers were more important than the credit they were given.

Strikes intended for his legs brought Alkor toward one of those inevitable questions. What happened when his legs were not able to produce the necessary steps? What would happen if he gave a single inch of ground, or allowed Baldur to debilitate him? 

The rhythm broke, and the question hung in the air between them. The monotony of the steps they'd taken fused together with the excitement of a new query, and Alkor stepped in without hesitation. Unlike before, where he drove with his body in an effort to unbalance Baldur, this time his blade thundered in two distinct cadences. The first, a thunderous downward blow to shunt Baldur's thrust aside and make room for the second, a shallow, oppositional cut that flowed along the dull edge of the blade toward Baldur's arms.

There was no pain, just the sound of impact. 

Deadly closeness. With just a single pull of his arms, Baldur could have brought his blade back to cut Alkor. The difference between their movements was no more than a fraction of a second, a hair trigger response. Alkor's eyes were on that narrow margin, not on his single scored point. With any of Aincrad's beasts, it could have spelled doom for the blonde man. A single hit, a single point, meant nothing in a world where blood was the currency and life hung in the balance.

It was clear, there was no satisfaction in it. Only harsh introspection. Unspoken criticism and chastisement toward the method he'd chosen. His eyes were narrow, fixated, tired.

"What happens when you ask a good question," Alkor pondered aloud, "but get a dissatisfying answer?"  

ID: 205949 CD: 12 (Scissors)

Another aspect of the swordsman came to life in that instant. A man was a lifetime of experiences, and his feelings and thoughts changed with age. Baldur shifted like the seasons, from a Spring shower to a Summer breeze. After the initial clash of their blades that left them reeling, it was obvious that a different approach was necessary. It was obvious that the hammer was the wrong tool. So, for lack of efficacy with his inner flame, something raw substantiated. His grit evolved into stubbornness, and the wind buffeted against rock.

Instead of giving chase, Alkor entrenched himself and dug in. Speed would not win the day- they were equally matched, with the Samurai remaining just outside of reach. Alkor, on the other hand, willfully became the target. If he could not go to the wind, then the wind would be made to come to him.

This time, rather than a simple defense, Alkor brought his weapon up and another powerful clashing of wooden blades echoed sharply. It was far louder than the last. As they ricocheted off of one another, Alkor brought his weapon back under control, tempering it in an overhead grip now with both hands. Baldur took on the aspects of wind, of water- yin, light, softness. Alkor countered with what came naturally- the hardness and sharpness of earth, and the heat and passion of fire. He was yang to Baldur, just as he was to Lessa. In this way, they balanced and countered one another, almost perfectly.

It made sense now. This man was like still water and soothing like a breeze, a gentle and calm place to go and seek refuge. He was not like Alkor. 

But that was not all there was. In his immutable response to Alkor, Baldur displayed characteristics of Earth. In his movements to respond to Baldur, Alkor flowed like Water. In this exchange, however brief, both men found aspects of themselves that filled in the gaps. 

Still, they were perfectly balanced. 

Baldur was a refuge. Alkor was a weapon. Both were necessary to fight the daemons of Aincrad. Both were necessary tools to be used by humanity, one for carving a path forward and the other for healing the wounds they incurred along the way. 

ID: 205445 CD: 5 (Paper)

Always striving, never arriving. He'd heard that before from someone he knew. It was the same, difficult, at times frustrating mantra that drove him. Like the heart of a forge, Alkor burned through himself and hammered away the imperfections. One at a time, he chipped away a flaw that brought him ever closer to the complete being he wanted to be. He did not want to die, but with those words, he was reminded that there was only one final destination for them, as humans. It was that mortality that made their efforts precious. It was that fleeting spark that gave rise to the fire inside of him.

Every blow was met with its equal. Wherever he tore an opening, Baldur summarily closed the gates. It was a siege- not won in an instant, with a decisive blow, but over a thousand cuts that fractured the walls. Or would it be the walls that endured, and the flames that dwindled?

In Baldur, he found the strength of someone who had faced down the same challenges- perhaps more than he had- and persevered. There was no fear in the man's eyes, they were a calm sea in the middle of a growing storm. In contrast, Alkor was a tempest, the fury that whipped up the waves and broke against the rocks. The story their bokken told was ancient. It was as old as time itself: of the primordial darkness that lay at its beginning. In that void, there was no difference between fire and water, or of earth and wind. They were as one, and it was through breaking them down into their own parts, through making them imperfect, that all things were born.

A man could not become nothing in his lifetime.

It was the bittersweet nature of their curse. They were damned, always, to amount to something- even if it was something inconsequential. Whether they were remembered or forgotten, their footprint existed for a moment in time. Just like a flame. Fire was born of the passion of man. It was through man's ingenuity, his desire to survive, that it was discovered. It was Alkor's lack of passion for anything else that drove him to seek understanding of himself. His passion for that alone gave him meaning. It was that meaning that guided his movements. He eschewed finesse for intensity. 

His blows wove together with the other man's, each a question and an answer.

Even as the heat came down against him, Baldur flowed with it. Not against it. Rather than try to match his aggression, he waited for the precise moment, and he responded. His strike belted out at Alkor, who found the faintest trace of a smirk at the newest query. 

Will you defend? Will you sacrifice to claim victory?

Alkor defied both outcomes. His blade surged upward from his side, he caught the attack on the outside without cancelling his momentum. He barreled right toward the man, shoulder first, and sought to take him off balance. The blade was not his only weapon. It was an extension of his body, another tool to be employed. In the same way that Baldur closed the gates, Alkor made himself a battering ram. The siege continued into its second phase.

ID: 205441 CD: 3 Rock

When Baldur confessed to being an introvert, Alkor had to chuckle silently. They shared that in common, and yet, Baldur found it within his abilities to host this type of event. He was even able to reach beyond the norms of his limited social capacity to function as the master of ceremonies. Alkor wondered whether if his own experiences had been different, if he had adjusted to life differently and learned those skills, he might have been capable of similar feats. It might drive another man to envy, but Alkor found only a certain respect for it. Rather than strive after what he did not have, he looked inward, for the things he could. Even if they were at the end of a long, painful, and oft lonely road.

This man exhibited a softer, almost compassionate face that many of the rougher and hardened denizens of their shared prison had lost along the way. Baldur spoke of offering at the final resting place, where all names went to rest in silence, and he forced himself not to think of all the tears that were wasted on him. He could not rewrite the past. 

"I offer my apologies," he dipped his head slightly. So much wasted time, so many difficult feelings to process. Alkor could not give any of it back.

Lessa, for all of her goodness, her kindness, and positivity, had built him into something that he wasn't. At the first chance he had, he tried to break away from it. Mari called on him to be something as well, but in the end, he had told her that he couldn't. These were sins that kept building on his burdens, mistakes he'd made that he had no idea how to undo. These unreciprocated feelings, the monumental expectations, they led him to understand that the truth was- albeit pain- always better than the lie.

"It is a beautiful sentiment," Alkor replied genuinely, "and certainly, a noble pursuit. I know there are those who will benefit from what you have done here tonight." 

But some wounds do not heal. It would have been tasteless to say that part, but he thought it nonetheless. Because it was true. 

His own truth was much more humble, and perhaps unexciting than what Baldur might have come to know of him. Alkor's amber gaze followed the man through the shadows, over to the rack of weapons where the training swords were. What came next surprised him.

This man seemed more interested not in what he knew of Alkor, but what he could learn. Whether or not that meant disappointment for Baldur, it was all that Alkor could have asked of anyone: to accept him as he was, not as what they thought he should be.

Alkor snatched the weapon out of the air like it was destined to find the way to his palm, and deftly stepped back into a high guard. With the blunted edge pointed toward Baldur, he nodded. "I feel that I owe you at least that much."

The fighting had passed and people convened for the party that their host had graciously prepared. It was a rare time in Aincrad when someone went out of their way to accommodate others like this, so most of them were more than eager to indulge. How Baldur suspected Alkor might not be one of them was anyone's guess. Still, the man found him and quickly identified him by name. Like everyone else, Alkor had dispensed with his weapon upon entry to the tournament out of respect for the rules and safety of everyone; and so, when the man approached, his arms were crossed. Something told him it was not likely to come to blows between them, so he made no movement to change the situation. 

"Please," Alkor bowed his head more than a bit, in the customary respectful deference owed to a host. "Just Alkor is fine, Baldur-dono," he replied with a title that awarded respect but afforded them equal status. Alkor never saw anyone as above him, nor did he look to place others beneath him. It felt foreign to be addressing someone who had seen the frontlines for so long, and stood where Alkor always felt he should have been standing. It was almost like looking at one's own shirked duties and feeling the guilt of failing in those responsibilities. 

When the man called him a ghost, he acutely recalled the conversation with Jomei that he'd had earlier that day. It seemed a hot topic for conversation, the method with which he managed to survive. Or perhaps it was that he survived at all that unnerved them so. How many others might have cheated death? How many more deserving than Alkor- 

No, he'd decided never to follow that line of thought again.

"I am as much flesh and blood as anyone in this place can claim to be," Alkor mused dryly, "which is to say, as much as we can be certain that we are in the world outside." To speak on the concept of mortality in this world seemed so morbid, and yet, they were more than a bit liberal with the notion. Both men seemed at ease with making light of it. "I thank you for your hospitality," he added finally, with another bow to accentuate the statement. The man comported himself in the manner of a Samurai, so regardless of the pallor of his skin or the pattern of his speech, Alkor was inclined to treat him that way. Samurai did not care about what one looked like, where one was born, or how one dressed in reality. Samurai was a way in which a man lived his life.

Bushido was a code. It was easy to understand, even if the people who followed its tenets were not. Alkor had tremendous respect for things that were to the point, and this particular thing was one that he was quite familiar with.

The room was dark, both of them outlined by the luminescence of the party.  What he could see of Baldur's features were a shadow of what they might have been by daylight, muted of tone and devoid of color. In this space, there was no pretense between them. With the warmth of the sun ripped away, their darkness was exposed.

"Has the host tired of his guests?" Alkor asked, though he knew better. It was more likely that Baldur sought him out intentionally. "Or was there something else that drew you away?"

He knew better. 

The moment that the pilot pressed the button, Alkor narrowed his eyes. He watched the Dreadnaught for any hint that they'd been acknowledged, any sign that they were clear to proceed. None came. "Do you know," he asked as he took a step backward and violently thrust his blade into the stomach of one of the two remaining midshipmen, "how many men it takes to fly a ship?" he asked the ship knowing full well he had no such knowledge. In fact, the answer itself was irrelevant. They were already on course. None of these pilots were necessary for what he intended. None of them seemed interested in abetting his plain, either.

"Why did you kill him?!" she screamed, horror injected into her eyes. He watched in calculating silence as she rounded on him and raised her sword. "I did what you said, I steered us toward the Ifrit, I even gave the signal-"

"I wonder," he said, his cold voice cutting out the heat and passion of hers. The second of two hostage pilots watched his friend, his comrade, slump to the floor as a corpse. His body doubled over, bereft of a soul to keep it anchored. His knees buckled beneath him. "What signal it was that you gave." His golden eyes had lost all light. The darkness that threatened to swallow him hole had turned them almost a deep amber.

"You can't just-"

Alkor pulled the sword downward from overhead and completed the coup de grace.

The head rolled to her feet, and the pilot clapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sure you thought you were dealing with someone reasonable," Alkor crooned in a quieter voice. "I'm not sure what gave you that idea when I boarded your ship after sacrificing another ship to get here, then slaughtered my way to the controls and threatened your lives. But that aside, do you know the answer to my question?" he asked her.

"...just one man," she whispered through her hands.

He nodded. "Just one," he agreed, "and I see three of us here." She looked around, suddenly aware of @Blueberry, and realized his intention. She lifted her sword, but it was too late. Alkor's blade had ruptured her heart, and she was dead before she had time to give her protest a voice. "Sorry about this," Alkor said, though he did not look to the younger girl as he spoke. Instead, he took the controls in hand and kept them steady.

The ship was already on course. They were aimed at the hull of the Dreadnaught Ifrit, and the controls were locked in place. They were steadily increasing speed. 

"Get ready to jump."

He remembered most of the past, as much as he did not want to. There was a fundamental disconnect between them, even from the beginning. He recalled how she looked to lean on him for direction, and how he had no idea what to tell her. She'd hung on every word, like the advice he gave was good as gold. Here she was today, a heavy armored bruiser who hefted a two handed sword around. He remembered suggesting that. Survival combined with damage- the best of both worlds, without being directly in the line of fire as a tank.

Lessa had come far from that. She had made that advice into something of her own, and only the memory of it remained. It was the best thing he could think of to stay alive. Back then, that really was all there was. A desire to stay alive. A drive to keep others alive. Then came the rocky times Lessa alluded to. Alkor felt his smile fade a bit and he looked away when she started to compliment him immediately after talking about how positively opposed their ways were.

"We weren't," he remembered his words, dramatic though they were in retrospect. The way he'd called out for her to just let him go, because he was in agony over trying to be something he wasn't. He remembered how much she needed something he couldn't give. Now, these things were in the open- and it was better to be honest, he'd learned. "And maybe we never will be, but I'm not worried about it. I don't go looking for myself in anyone else. I don't think Alkor needs to be good for Lessa, or that Lessa has to be good for Alkor. What I do think, is that at the very least, we're not bad for each other anymore, and that's all that matters," he said, succinctly as he could.

"That understanding alone is enough."

Maybe it was disappointing to put it that way, but Alkor didn't want any false pretenses or disillusionment between them. Never again. "What we have to be is ourselves," he said finally.

If they were opposites, then their quest wasn't to compliment each other. It wasn't to tear one down so the other could thrive. The purpose of opposed forces in nature was to achieve balance. Alkor remembered that now. Where there was yin, there must also always be yang.

Unlike Lessa, Alkor was not a person who offered many compliments. He preferred fo speak sparingly where he could, and because of his upbringing, he had a hard time showing affection of any kind. Instead of listing off any number of things positive about her, he took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then exhaled.

"You can hug me," he told her, "once. If you want to. No pressure."