Fall of a Hero: Hearts Without Foundation (a Fantasy Adventure)

Heartrace

There's a place called the Ripple Realm, a universe that reflects the history of another, in our case, the universe regarding Earth. Somewhere amidst this colorful and dusty swirl of galaxies there resides solar system reigned by a single medium-sized star.

Here, the lies the young planet known to itself as Alicubi. It's a Goldilocks planet- perfectly life viable terrain, despite a barren solar system of little else but moons orbiting gaseous planets. Even so, this paradise thrives and provides a home to more that five billion beings from the races of man to the tribes of the dragon-like Quasids.

The world's civilization is not primal, but not developed. Rather, it is somewhere in between. Across the planet's surfaced raged a world war that deprived the land, keeping part of it in a society of the past. Someplace across the face of it, past the Barrier Seas and amongst the divisions of the man's land, there lies a manor estate of the lofty Lord Mundus.

This is the world of the serf.

As a people, the serfs we are talking about were treated quite well in comparison to those of the other estates, as Mundus long dreamt of a kingdom. He only made them labor eight hours a day with regular weekly bathes. They were not starved, and they were not beaten. Food was nearly twice as much available. They had stone apartments with dirt floors rather than leaky shacks. The best served inside as domestic servants within the Mundus household.

Some were content, some weren't, but uprisings were not frequent. The place was soundless of event for decades. It didn't even have a marking of its presence on most maps at the time. It was insignificant.

One of these serf communities known as the Vas family had recently added their eleventh child. They did this in order to be rewarded a larger income, which was promised in greater portions in return for children, lest the serfs refuse to conceive. With parents constantly busy with work and a small farming plot as well as a newborn, the ninth child, eleven-year-old Vulgaris found himself neglected and unheard. He often times had to repeat himself, which later developed into a full-fledged habit.

Alone and harassed by his other brothers, Vulgaris tried to commit suicide one day, driven by the emptiness of family love that he was not receiving. He stopped by the edge of the prohibited lake, feeling stupidly sorry for himself, as his spirit was as dreadfully tender compared to most. So, there he stood, considering the recommendation of drowning himself from his eldest sibling, when suddenly he was stopped.

That is when Vulgaris met Maledicta, his older brother who had been away. The two were as different as the night was to the day. Although they both had brown hair, Maledicta's was straight and Vulgaris's was curly. Maledicta had leaf green, intimidating eyes, while Vulgaris's were soft and kind. As a child, Vulgaris had a medium build, a button nose, and a round head. Maledicta already had a warrior body, with burly thin arms and a long, tall body, even as a thirteen-year-old.

Maledicta was exceptional at all types of sporting, so much so that Mundus had enrolled him in the Junior Manorial Games, a competition between serfs of different estates. Vulgaris had no exceptional physical strength whatsoever. Maledicta was the roughest and strongest of them all. The adolescent was bossy and sometimes harsh, but that boy protected and cared for Vulgaris in a way that no one else did. Vulgaris followed Maledicta everywhere, and hardly put up a fuss when Maledicta pushed him around. Nevertheless, they grew up and survived.

One year, during the annual Manor Picnic, with which Lord Mundus would show off his massive property to his haughty and lofty friends, thirteen-year-old Maledicta and eleven-year-old Vulgaris were soaking up the festival as usual. There was a ton of food, and the serfs had three consecutive days off. Other than the Festival Days when the tourists visited to see the serf bazaar, it was the biggest holiday in the year.

Everyone set up their meager crafting tents, food counters, and clothing racks in high hopes of selling some product to at least put a bit more bread on the table. Those who weren't shopping enjoyed games and entertaining presentations. The whole thing almost fanciful of the reality of the manor.

Vulgaris and Maledicta celebrated as usual and had a good time. On the last day, they ventured out into the forest, which was discouraged but not enforced, and began some racing games. Maledicta always demanded that they "compete" whenever they had free time. Vulgaris, though, hated it, as Maledicta would always win and rub it in Vulgaris's face.

Despite this, he always went along anyway, not having enough strength to say no. They trooped together along the path to where the start line was. They got crouched into ready position, hands flat on the ground and body arched. Maledicta looked to eleven-year-old Vulgaris by his side and inhaled slowly.

"Ready..." he said, stretching his legs in the crouch. He was so cool with it all as he creaked his neck and straightened himself. Meanwhile, Vulgaris's heart raced. Sometimes, he would get so worked up he wouldn't be able to breathe. Maledicta always made competition seem like the real thing with real wins and loses. Vulgaris hated losing more than anything.

"Set..." His brother realigned his hands against the dusty earth, pressing in hand prints. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, imagining the true adult Games. Vulgaris studied a nearby moss patch to get his mind off. After this, he thought, maybe Maledicta won't want to do any more races today.

"Go!"

Mid-thought, startled Vulgaris fell forward into a sprint. He ran and ran. He pumped and pumped. His feet snapped and trampled everything in his path. His chest gasped, and his arms failed sloppily at his side. He gritted and pushed himself until he hit that finish line. He looked around, expecting to see Maledicta already there. Vulgaris grinned wildly in his triumph and laughed.

That day, Maledicta had fallen behind.

"You lose, you lose!" he danced and sang. He had never won before!

But Maledicta didn't respond. Far back off to the side, he was gagging, and he threw up. Violently. Frightened, Vulgaris fled for help. A bit later, the sluggish Vas family, along with aid from other serfs, lifted up his pale body and carried him out of the forest. Vulgaris had never seen him so weak and vulnerable.

"Don't worry Maledicta! I've got you! I've got you!" he said, trotting beside the carriers, trying to keep pace. Maledicta's head rolled to the side to see him. His sticky mouth was ajar, and he subtly pressed it closed again. His expression was blank except for a small glimmer when he looked at Vulgaris.

They put Maledicta down on the floor of their stone apartment and the medic came in. He took some brief tests declared it as severe food poisoning. They summoned for medicine, but the arrival of it was uniquely slow. Vulgaris screamed, "Where is it? Where is it! Hurry!"

It was too late. While Vulgaris pleaded for help, Maledicta slipped off. There was a pounding at the door and in rushed the messenger serf, Nuntius. They all gathered around as he tried administering the herbal melody from the flask. Nuntius put it to his lips and urged him to drink it.

But, Maledicta didn't move. He had died before it came. No last words, no last comment...

He simply stopped living.