This story is by Flinn K and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Bright. Hot. Unforgiving.
That was the summer heat of an afternoon in the forest near the town of Gilro.
Trudging through the thick, lush greenery alone was a young man no older than twenty. His dispirited gray eyes looked down on the ground as he pulled himself forward with every ounce of will left in him. His disheveled hair indicated several days of not being cleaned.
Eric Beweinstor was sent into the nearby forest by his uncle for a “little stroll”. Apparently, he’d overheard a conversation of him with an old lady who believed in the old superstition.
“Somewhere that leads to many other places, but stems from one. That’s what that young Eric should find.” Those were the words he vividly remembered.
After hiding in his room and not doing much for a whole two weeks, his uncle Robin was finally happy to get him started on a little adventure.
His uncle was well aware that he was demotivated by the Iron-brand league that he’d participated in. Almost winning had caused all sorts of disappointment and pain that Eric couldn’t bring himself to face the aftermath.
As Eric came to a corner at the end of the grassy pathway, he noticed a water puddle oddly situated in the middle of four pathways intersecting. Still, the soil was dry, which indicated an absence of rainfall. He stood above it and glanced directly into it.
The puddle vanished.
He didn’t have the time to think through the possibilities of the situation as the world around him folded into a distorted reality. However, he caught a glimpse of the grassy road that met the rubble pathway.
Then it hit him, right as he passed out.
Somewhere that leads to many other places, but stems from one. Go forth, young Eric.
****
Eric noticed a garden filled with a mix of tulips and alyssum as his eyes flew open. He instantly recognized the nostalgia that hit him; this was his mother’s backyard. He briefly reminisced the vague memories of his days as a boy no older than seven. He could remember falling on his face, climbing back up and seeing his mother smiling at him.
However, as real as the garden was, this was not at all a part of his memories. As he sensed another familiar presence behind him, a series of shivers were sent down his spine. He turned around, expecting a horrifying encounter, only to face an inexplicable paradox.
He found him staring back at himself.
This reflection of him looked just like him. Except unlike himself, the windows to the soul of his other self looked dark and blank, despite being under the illuminating sun.
The figure didn’t hesitate as it boldly marched towards him. Eric, being confused and frightened, took off away from the figure. As he aimed for the direction of his house, he seemed to be getting nowhere close. He was too focused on the distant image of his home when he tripped.
The figure stopped several feet away from him, standing still and glaring through his eyes, straight into his soul. As scary as it was, it looked as though it wanted to communicate more than anything else.
A thought forcefully popped up inside his head at that moment, making him recall the sword-fighting competition he felt so dejected about.
Eric had stayed home, hidden from the world since the Iron-brand league. Unlike many other contestants who nearly had their hands lobbed off by those hungry for first place, he came out of the competition alright. He’d only taken on a few sprains in his ankles and wrists.
As intense as the fighting was, Eric had picked up several important game-changers during his duels. He’d learned how crucial wrestling was when it came to locking swords. Gaining his center of balance to throw his opponent off their stance became his expertise due to his steady posture.
However, after losing at the quarter-finals, a cold gust of wind seemed to have snuffed out the fire in his heart. He was getting increasingly pumped up match after match, getting steadily better. Yet just after losing the knock-out match, a tide of brutal, bone-chilling disappointment blanketed his optimistic character, leaving him to face the cold winter that had taken over his spirit.
Wincing at the throbbing pain in his head, Eric looked up at his splitting image again. The image was nothing he could recognize in himself. He believed that the kindles of inspiration had kept him alive for all this time, despite his feelings of depression. Just as he brought up the comparison of his former, high-spirited self and his currently demotivated character, he paused at his sudden realization.
A brain-numbing feeling touched his frontal cortex and electrified the rest of his head, making him bob back and forth a little.
He had reflected on it, and asked himself again.
He noticed upon looking deeper within himself. It wasn’t so much about the prize money he could’ve won, even though it was worth a life-changing sum. Neither was it all about popularity. Getting the attention of the daughters of high society was absolutely out of the question. What Eric desired more than anything else was the title of champion itself.
Once he’d proven himself that he was capable of being one of the best swordsman in the kingdom, he would’ve been on his way to knighthood. Did he care about the well-being of his kingdom?
To hell with that.
He knew truthfully that none of that mattered to him. What he desired was what was pulling him down in the first place, despite all that he’d accomplished so far.
As he looked into the eyes of the illusion of himself that stood before him, he finally understood why he was here.
These were the grounds of his heart, and before him, stood his ego.
Shaken and shattered, this part of him had been calling out for help, hollering the need to reflect into himself and take the time and focus to get his mind back into fighting shape. The agony of not fulfilling his self-validation kicked him into the spiral that was slowly killing him. Thus his ego — his subconscious mind — had been signaling him with the discomfort to look within.
All along, that pain wasn’t a curse. It was a blessing in disguise. An indicator to the source of his biggest problems. The lighthouse that was meant to guide his ship through the thunderstorms of his mind and heart.
Eric no longer backed away from the figure. He noticed his ego was frustrated with his fear, and what it truly needed was his acknowledgement, his acceptance, and his embrace to welcome it back to where it belonged — the crossroads of his mind, body, heart, and spirit.
As Eric closed on his figure, it shuddered out of fear, unaware if he was bringing it any harm. He wrapped his arms around its shoulders, and the figure’s soulless eyes watered tears of joy, sorrow, warmth, cold, and so forth.
Eric couldn’t hold himself back either. The enlightenment he’d received was too overwhelming to brush off his shoulders. The cold he felt from his ego sent him shivering, followed by an odd warmth and tenderness.
Then the garden faded. As he opened his eyes once more, his image was gone, the world around him warped again, and darkness made the night in his eyes.
****
As Eric came to, he beheld a green field leading into a series of hills.
This was the path he’d walked earlier.
Perplexed, he checked his surroundings, remembering that he’d come to a halt at a naturally formed crossroad. However, the thick greenery behind him would not reveal a way that would lead to a trail.
He looked down in his hands to see an item too heavy to be unnoticed, yet he held it without feeling it. The silver and mahogany scabbard displayed a distinct craftsmanship. The hilt and pommel of the weapon was well detailed with entwinement designs that was similar to the old Norse artistry.
The sword that laid in his hand, although newly acquired, was something familiar to him. Something that he felt as a part of himself.
As he brandished it, the blade stood a little longer than his torso. A well balanced sword, specially made for him, had a reflection that was ever so clear. As he gazed into his eyes in the sword, it seemed to gaze back at him. Once again, he could see the fire in his eyes.
Sheathing his sword, Eric Beweinstor tracked his way out of the forest, onto the grassy fields and into the hills that led him back home.
With the fire in his soul, illuminating the chambers in his mind and heart, he was once again driven to take his body to the next level of swordsmanship, with his eyes set on being a new identity: The Sword Saint.
Leave a Reply