Wrongly in Love

14- The Death Chanter

The Death Chanter was unsure of what he had become of the last few days, so it wasn't that big of a shock when he saw her in battle.

His childhood wasn't a whole lot of fun. He had been often called names, insults, and even been called "The Emo-Freak Loser" by a snobby kid when he was six, but it was alright. He also had no proper family and was raised in a lagoon by mermaids or whatever creatures they are, but he was perfectly content with that too.

Then as a teenager. He was grown to be a simple boy working at a stranger's barn. He was kidnapped from the lagoon and sold to a hard-faced man who kept him working every single second. The Death Chanter remembered the fateful day he escaped from that smelly barn, grabbing a gun, a baroque violin, and his Master's coat while the man shrieked and looked frantically for his wife.

The Death Chanter has been a social outcast. He had been oblivious to incoming wars, Magic, spells, and sword fights.

Until she came.

Lesley.

Lesley, the only woman he had loved through the pain and joys he had experienced his whole life.

He remembered vividly the day he met her. He had a huge wound over his eye, and it stung him painfully every second he walked. He was sitting on a park bench by the outskirts of Swan Lake and was crying softly. Then the sight came which he had never expected to see- a braided girl holding a sniper.

"Hi th- Oh good Lord, what happened to your face? Oh, it's a wound! Did someone hurt you? Are you okay?" The braided girl exclaimed worriedly as she wiped her coat sleeves on the blood.

"Perfectly fine," The Death Chanter tried to smile, but the pain stung him once again and he whimpered.

"Don't worry, scar boy," The girl reassured him. "I'll get some help!"

Two minutes later, she returned with a young woman holding a first aid kit with an expression of utmost horror.

"What happened?" The nurse asked. She looked as though she was going to throw up and she muttered a string of words that were too inappropriate for the Death Chanter to repeat. "Bloody hell... I'll try to get an antidote... Those Leonin mages are always bragging about their ready-made potions, but if they won't share their secrets I suppose it wasn't true..."

Sighing, the nurse dabbed a bit of antidote over the Death Chanter's eye. The antidote smoked, leaving him moaning in pain. Then it cooled, and he put a hand over it gingerly- it now looked like a week old.

"Thanks!" He smiled at the nurse, who nodded in return. As the nurse walked away, Lesley sat down on the park bench. A few moments passed before Lesley spoke up.

"Your wound..." She said tentatively, "Is it alright?"

"More than you can imagine," The Death Chanter said happily, patting the wound. "Thanks for the help. By the way, who are you?"

"I'm Lesley!" The braided girl smiled, and held up her hand. The Death Chanter stared. She had spoken too loudly than she had intended, and blushed.

"So... what's yours?" Lesley asked sheepishly.

"My name?" The Death Chanter thought.

"Yes, your name." Lesley repeated.

The memory was a blur from that moment on. He did not remember saying his name even once.

Everyday, Lesley visited the Death Chanter on his park bench, often to tell funny stories about the villagers in town. She told about how her brother, Harley, had once failed in a written test and had smeared cherry mush over it. She told how her adopted parents scoured the whole house for her grandmother's necklace, only to find it on her mother's neck. She told how, when she walked to school, she had accidentally wore two-sizes-too-big pants of her father's and the darn thing had fallen off.

As the Death Chanter laughed with tears in his eyes, he realized it wasn't just the wound that was healing.

It was him too.

Healed by a girl with a sniper in her hands.

As time flew, he felt more and more enamoured with her, and before he knew it, he was deeply, truly, totally in love, and he found himself looking forward to these bench talks.

But as the days went by, Lesley's mind drifted to other things. She often raved about that boy with the brown hair. She blabbered about how he was so skilled in magic and dagger arts. She talked about how beautiful, and wonderful, it is to be in love. And her eyes shone every time she talked.

It went on and on.

Until the Death Chanter couldn't take it anymore.

Why would he fall for this girl?

A girl who didn't know his name?

One day, he vanished from sight. He might've heard Lesley sobbing, laughing, he did not know, he did not linger to find out. He walked away, slowly, thinking he would be better off without her.

He was wrong. The truth hurts badly.

But it was all for the best.

So it was a shock to see her nearly ten years later, sitting by a bush, muttering to herself. Her eyes looked puffy and red, as if she had been crying. The Death Chanter wanted more than anything to comfort her, touch her, even hold her; but at the same time, he wanted to teach her a lesson.

A lesson on how she had broken his heart.

He walked on for a few moments. He stared up the trees and in shock, he had founded himself in the Leonin Forest, one of the most dazzling and peaceful places of Dawn.

Except the forest no longer looked peaceful. Leonins and Elves alike were screaming- many had fallen injured and weak. He could picture Harith and Nana firing spells in the distance, fighting bravely. To his shock, he also made out Guinevere, helping a young Elf boy to his feet. Why was she in a public place? Shouldn't she be in hiding? Perhaps Elves don't read newspapers... and saw a gang of hoods gathered.

The Death Chanter quietly tiptoed to the gang. Sure enough, they had cornered someone.

It was Gusion. The man Lesley has fallen in love with.

Anger surged through his body like fire. He should go walk away. Let him die for all he cared. But as he turned away, he realized this wasn't for Lesley anymore.

It was his quest.

To be the Hero Of Dawn.

Even though the hero he was rescuing was a man he hated.

The Death Chanter summoned his courage, walked behind the hoods, and raised his baroque violin threateningly. "Let's make this quick."