Adventure of Entropy

Chapter Two - The Identity of Entropy

Spartan and Serra stand outside an old, rotten barn, waiting for the door to be opened. Serra shifts impatiently, truly waiting for her training to begin. Naturally, the majority of her life has been leading up to this very moment. Well, that moment may very well have been when she met Spartan in the market, but no matter. She would soon find out what she herself is capable of.

"So, why do people call you Spartan, anyway?" Serra inquires. "It's a rather odd name."

"There are worse names," Spartan shrugs. "I once met a man by the name of Dzibilchaltunchunchucmil."

"Ouch," Serra shivers at the thought of pronouncing that name. "So it's Dizzy..."

"Dzibilchaltunchunchucmil."

"Dziblicha-"

Spartan shrugs his head. "It isn't even worth it to find out how to pronounce it."

"So why Spartan?" Serra presses. "Stop dodging my question with Dizzy-what's-his-face and explain something to me."

Spartan sighs while rolling his eyes childishly at Serra. "Do you know what the thirteen elven kingdoms are?"

"Naturally! Any good scholar should know them!" Serra starts counting them off. "Taona, Verilium, Aseri, Baldris, Galder, Payero, Yaias, Exerum, Nocto, Laranis, Feria, Illuis, and... wait, did you say thirteen? There are only twelve elven kingdoms!"

"Allow me to make an edit to my question to clarify, miss," Spartan nods his head. "What were the thirteen kingdoms as of one hundred years ago?"

"Oh! You mean Sparta-" Realization hits Serra like an arrow. "So you're from Sparta? That means you must be over one hundred years old! And you look like you're twenty!"

"En contraire, mon frere," Spartan shakes his head. "Your analysis of my age based on appearance was quite accurate. My four great grandfathers and four great grandmothers were barely able to survive the collapse of Sparta. They were able to wed amongst themselves just fine, and they had four children, two sons and two daughters, one for each pair. They were unable to have more for an ancient curse was put on them."

"The Origin Curse?" Serra wishes to confirm her suspicion. "Your nation's Origin Stone was destroyed?"

"That is correct, miss," Spartan nods in confirmation. "The Origin Stone, the nation's key to survival, was smashed. The curse released. And in that occurring, we were slowly but surely diminished to just one young man, three generations later."

"And that man is you," Serra suggests, receiving a nod from Spartan. This, as most would respond to hearing a tragic situation, results in a short awkward silence, which is interrupted by the opening of the door.

"Finally!" Spartan walks inside. "I really need to update the identification charm on the door. Blasted thing takes fifteen minutes every time a new person shows up!"

Serra walks in and gawks at the lavish arrangements on the inside of the barn. Despite its outer dilapidated appearance, on the inside, it looks like a king could have lived there! With a purple silk carpet with gold patterns, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and glorious red velvet chairs around a glass table. "So are we going to discuss politics or train?" Serra asks in all jest.

Spartan shakes his head. "I hate politics. Onstendi pugnam formae!" With the incantation, the carpet, chandelier, and multitude of lavish decorations dissipate, and are replaced by holographic elves. Naturally, they are to serve as targets for Serra's powers.

"So what am I to do now?" Serra asks. "Blast them with a fireball?"

"On the contrary, miss," Spartan shakes his head. "They are here to awaken you." With a snap of his fingers, the holographic skin transforms into flesh, and the three newly humanized figures spring to attack Serra.

One male figure draws a dagger from his cloak, and jumps on top of Serra, pinning her down. He slashes the surprisingly real blade across her cheek, causing it to bleed out. She screams in pain, unable to retaliate.

Another stabs his blade through her hand. Her screams pierce Spartan's ears, making him question whether this was the right course of action to awaken her. He doesn't even know whether this stratagem will work or not.

"GET OFF OF ME!" Serra's plea has turned to rage during the course of Spartan's train of thought. Spartan blinks as he turns to Serra. A burst of dark energy emanates from her body as she stands up despite the weight of three grown men atop her body. "I told you to get off!"

As she stands up, a fourth man runs at her with his own dagger. She rushes at him, shrugging the three men off, and her fingernails morph into claws as she scars the man's face. Her other hand blasts a shot of dark energy at the other men, killing them instantaneously.

After the men turn back into holograms and retreat, Serra pants, takes a deep breath, and sits down. She looks at her clawed hands, and gazes into the newly apparent mirror on the wall. Her hair has turned a shade of purple, and her teeth have morphed into fangs. "What in the name of the Lord?"

Spartan simply gazes, astounded by her new appearance. He cannot fathom the magics used to prevent this form from showing.

"Why did you do that?" Serra runs a finger over a scar on her cheek, which is rapidly healing. "Was it necessary to try and kill me?"

"Yes, miss," Spartan's gaze turns from Serra to the floor. "The magics concealing your true self could only be destroyed if you were to destroy them. And since you were unaware of the magics, you had to inadvertently destroy them to save yourself."

Serra shudders. "So what am I? Is there anyone like me out there? What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, I don't know, and, once more, I don't know," Spartan is disappointed. If she had been a known creature from another realm he would have understood completely, but unfortunately, this is not the case.

Serra's train of thought is entirely different. Will she ever be able to return to her old self? Will she be kicked out of society and treated like a freak because of her new form? "Is there a way for me to turn back into myself?"

"This IS yourself," Spartan starts, but Serra chooses not to retort at this, "but to answer your question as intended, I know someone who can conceal your claws and fangs, the most revealing trait that will set you apart from most. But she lives in Galder."

Serra winces. They are currently in Verilium, the safest of the elven kingdoms, and Galder is a long trip away. Not even the most skilled at instantaneous matter transportation could go from one to the other quickly, and there is no Transmat Gate between the two, despite their tight alliance.

But she has another question. "Or is there someone who might know more about my true nature?"

"The Librarian of Aseri would know," Spartan nods. "I suppose he could potentially cast temporary concealing magic, too. Who would you like to visit first?"

Aseri is just across the Verdawn lake, which separates Verilium, Aseri, and Illuis. "Aseri is much closer. We could practically teleport there!" Serra smiles.

"I can't teleport," Spartan frowns. "It disorients me, confounds my senses. You'd be dead in a minute even before we got to the Library!"

"I can fend for myself, you know!" Serra crosses her arms and turns away, in a pouting stance. She stays that way for a minute, and then turns back toward Spartan. "But I see your point. We'll travel by boat. Sound alright?"

The sweat that had been forming on Spartan's brow flies off his face as he shakes his head as if coming out of a daydream. "Yeah, let's go!"