The boat creaked as it rocked against the wave, journeying towards the sunset that was hidden behind the peaks of distant mountains. Steve sat rigid on the side deck, gripping firmly with his hand the mast. He was an adventurer and warrior—that was for sure. Sailor? Perhaps not so much. The constant lurching of the vessel made him constantly gasp in fear. The bobbing on the waves made his stomach unsettled, and sent the taste of bile up his throat. It had also kept him from getting his much needed sleep. Apart from short-lived dozes that were never longer than two hours at a time, he had not slept for… just over a week now. His weariness was visible. Huge blue bags clung to the underside of his eyes, of which kept drooping closed for a second or two before a wave rocked the boat and made him jolt up straight and alert.

The journey would soon be over, however, for, as previously mentioned, mountains sat upon the darkening horizon, and with them a whole new continent! What wonders lied beyond, Steve could only speculate. As for the potential horrors… that he’d rather not speculate and dwell on.

Above, a bird called. Steve looked up at it. Life. Finally, after a week with the only companions being the fish—and what strange ones he had reeled in too—a recognisable bird! He smiled. Oh yes, the quite literally sickening voyage across the sea would soon be replaced with steady steps across grassy lands.

It had taken what had seemed, and maybe had been, hours to get to the coastline of the new land. By now, only a thin, golden line over the fields, forests and hills remained of the sun. The coast was uncomfortably rocky, and off of it came swirling waves. Steve was standing up like a living stick, clinging to the mast for what seemed like dear life.

Yep, I’m definitely not sailor material… he thought to himself in a pathetic attempt to laugh away his fears.

The rocks and the waves that splashed here ravenously clearly had not deterred other peoples, though, for two short piers protruded from the mainland. Steve attempted to guide his boat towards one of them, but felt that it was mostly luck that lead him to reach it—and in addition in one piece.

As he tied up his boat to the pier, he inspected the village that accompanied the small harbour. It was small, for sure, with no more than two dozen houses, each of which were no more than thirteen feet across. He decided, as self-acclaimed adventurer, that he must look inside one. No-one would be angry with him, after all, as this place seemed completely deserted.

Steve stood outside one, inspecting the old, clay walling of the house. The wooden door had half-rotted away and was damp and mossy. He pushed it open. It creaked as it opened… and then fell of the rusted hinges and landed with a clonk.

Steve hesitated to enter for a second, but then entered without another thought. The inside was dimly lit, but he could make out a counter along one wall, a table with one good chair (the others far too eroded and damp to use) and… a spectacularly comfy-looking bed!

No… I shouldn’t. But I… it looks so comfy… He might’ve not wanted to, but nevertheless he practically fell onto the bed, and within seconds was snoring in the cold and fast-approaching night.

The sound of scuttling woke Steve up. After a few seconds for the sound of feet to register, his eyes peeled open and he shot up, clumsily searching for his swords hilt. He found it, and while unsheathing it, stubbed his little finger hardly against the guard, and let go of the sword with a yelp. It clattered against the stone floor. He heard a squeal, followed by rapid scampering of feet. He caught a glimpse at a tail.

A rat… He thought as he flushed with embarrassment. He reached for his sword, sheathing it once again. The sun lit the house up better now, and he could see a clay pot on the table. He picked it up and looked inside. It was an old—very old—dollop of porridge. It really wasn’t to his fancy. On the side of the pot, he could see a carving depicting a god bestowing knowledge to a young child. He span the pot round; a similar image of a prophet, with knowledge being told to him by gods, preaching a mass of intently listening people.

“Curious…” he spoke subtly.

“Really?” said a voice from behind. “Nearly all FirstBorn believe in it, and I doubt any no nothing of it.”

The voice caught Steve off guard. It seemed loud after so much time on that boat, and it spoke his own language unlike the Testificates that he had shared his old land with. He span round, quickly drawing his sword. The woman, however, already had her sword drawn, and made an easy par that knocked Steve’s sword out of his hand. She sheathed it.

“I’m curious,” She started, “Where could you have come from so that you’ve never heard tale about the origins of our kind?”

“I, uhh,” Stuttered Steve, “Came from a village south from here.” Another human!

“Hmm… I doubt that.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Because, and you clearly haven’t noticed,” She started, “Nearly all FirstBorn have been turned into an army, controlled by an unknown, mysterious force…”

“What?!”

“The truth.” She assured him. “Just look out of the window.”

Steve did. Over the hills to the north, he could see an army of his old nemeses; skeletons and zombies. He took hold of his swords hilt.

“…So we should get going. Are you coming or not?” Steve turned around to face her, but she had already left the house, as if a spectre. Steve ran out after her.

He looked round for her. She was making a swift move west. He continued to sprint after her.

At last, they reached the undercover of a verdant forest nearby. Steve had his hand against the bark of a tree, coughing and heaving to catch his breath. The woman, however, seemed unfazed by it, and was doing press-ups when he got to her.

“Hello again.” She said, without looking up.

“Hello…” Steve started, bluntly. “I’m curious. Who are you?”

She swiftly pushed herself up off the ground. “Guðrún.” She extended a hand. “And you?”

“Steve, famed explorer.” He said proudly, his chest inflated to emphasize the point.

She grunted a sarcastic “what if”, much to Steve’s dislike.

“Well,” She said, “I’m off to a nearby city, to collect provisions. You coming?” Steve had opened his mouth to respond, but already she had dashed off further west. With a sigh, he followed after her.

The moon had risen several hours later. Night had fallen. The running had already made him heavy and made his limbs tremble. Now weariness would make an attack on him.

I cannot—I can… continue. He told himself I can—I can’t… continue… Defeated, by himself, he made a pact that he would rest where next available. It proved not to be too far away. A lone inn lit up the night.

I can continue! He bit down his lip, and continued to jog on, stumbling over his feet. Guh! He gave up, and continued through the doors of the inn.

Testificates hurred in their conversations inside the inn. A band was playing stringed instruments. Steve made his way to the bar.

“A stake and a mead.” He told the bartender, who hurred a response. He sat down on a stool. He looked around—no sign of Guðrún. He shrugged as he was served.

After eating and drinking the mead, he requested a room. He was handed the keys, and after paying, made his way up the narrow staircase to his room.

A small trickle of light slipped through the window in the morn. He sleepily pushed himself out of his bed, and thought for a second, recapping on yesterday. He remembered where Guðrún had said she was going, and her direction. He eagerly continued out of the inn and into pursuit of her.

A stone city grew over the horizon. This must be it. He thought, pressing forwards with even more vigour. He entered through its ancient gateway. Crows flapped across the angled, stone rooftops. Smouldering torches spat dark embers onto the stone alleyways. The houses seemed raided.

Where is everybody? He thought just as he heard a crunch beneath his feet. He looked down, to see the bone of an arm, browning scraps of flesh hanging of it like torn flags. He flinched and squirmed backwards, knocking his head onto the low-handing stone tiles of a building’s roof. A few plates of stone slid off, and cracked against his head. He fell down, hand clasping hard on his bleeding cranium.

Footsteps approached rapidly. He continued looking down at the ground and rubbed his hand across his head, feeling the blood that had soaked into his mop of hair.

“A famed explorer for what?” A voice said from further down the alley. It startled Steve, who leaped back on his feet only to land again, hard, onto the stone besides the rotted corpse. He looked up at the person who had startled him. It was Guðrún.

“Guðrún!” He stopped, changing his tone from shock to a prouder one. “I am famed for a number of completely righteous reasons!”

“Then demonstrate them!” She replied sharply. By now he was up on his feet again, hand on his swords hilt. Similarly, she held her hand on her hilt, mirroring him.

“I was looking for you—have you got any supplies yet?”

“Oh yes,” She said. She threw a bandage at him. “That one you’ll probably need.”

He grunted as he fumbled to apply the bandage. Just as he had put it on, and was about to speak, an arrow flew past and shattered a window, startling both him and Guðrún.

“Skeletons!” he shouted. “Take cover—” Guðrún had already left, swift as a zephyr. He sighed, and ran after where he had last saw her. He turned the alley, to see she was already making a quick exit of the city “Hey! Wait up!” He shouted, running after her. She didn’t seem to heed him, and continued outwards.

He exited too, only slightly catching up on her tail. “Hurry! This way!” She shouted to him, not slowing down. He only complied, and followed her as she led him to a monumental stone pyramid.

They entered through the opening. After they had made some distance, the door shut. Lights, seemingly burnt out before, lit up. Patterned images were carved into the sides. Steve flinched at the sound.

“Come along now.” Said Guðrún, her voice somewhat subdued from its normal sound. Steve swallowed hard and nodded, continuing to follow her as she entered a spacious chamber.

To the left and right were large stone golems, frozen into the walls that had multiple, tentacle-like arms. In front was a podium, another golem, much more intimidating than the others, was also suspended on it.

“He’s here.” Guðrún said sheepishly.

“Who?” Inquired Steve, his brow furrowed all the way.

Guðrún gulped. “You.” She started to back away into the shadows.

“What?” Queried Steve, but she did not answer.

“Good.” Said an encompassing, unnatural voice that echoed across the sides. “Examination will proceed.”

“What ‘examination?’” Demanded Steve, looking round the room. He failed to notice the two stone golems approach him from either side. With their tentacle-like appendages, they restrained him. Steve gasped angrily, looking both of them down. They had gone from the ugly grey they were before to a polished white like marble. Red, insectoid eyes flickered on their peculiar-shaped heads.

He also failed to see the one in front of him move closer, until it was practically over him, with several tentacles extended towards Steve. None of its eyes on its head were visible. Instead, staring at him were glowing orbs on the end of its tentacles, they too blinking in an insectoid fashion. They flashed at him, then moved about, then flashed again.

“Specimen fits the requirements; operation will proceed.”

“What?! Who are you?!” Demanded Steve furiously.

“My name matters not.” Said the examining golem. “But of whom we are, that matters.” It paused, before continuing. “You are FirstBorn. You know well of SecondBorn. It is rare, however, for one, First or SecondBorn, to know of us, the ThirdBorn. Let us go back a bit. The FirstBorn were the ones who created the first civilization. This empire was Minrafier.

“Minrafier expanded outwards, across this whole continent of birth—where all sapient beings lived. They dominated the SecondBorn, either razing their settlements, or assimilating their peoples as second class citizens.

“They, the SecondBorn, were pacifists. We ThirdBorn, however, were not. We would not stand by idly and let ourselves be conquered. We resisted, but our attempts proved to be in vein. We were physically weaker than humans, and awkward fighters we were. We were crushed. Only a few of us, guided by higher forces, survived, all others were extinguished into the void below. By the guidance of gods and goddesses, we who survived made our golem suits—what you see of us now.” The other two ThirdBorn gave sharp nods, before jerking their heads suddenly to gaze roughly at Steve.

“When a prophet of the FirstBorn first created what their gods deemed to be a medical device that would repair tissue in seconds, we took the opportunity. We took control of the devices, we made an army to wipe the FirstBorn out with.”

“The undead hordes…” Whispered Steve to the wind.

“Precisely.” The examining ThirdBorn said robotically. “They converted nigh-on all of your kind into more troops, those who proved immune were slaughtered. Upon knowing that there were FirstBorn beyond these shores, and all of your kin wiped out here, we continued to send our armies out across the sea.” It paused. “That were centuries past. Near enough all FirstBorn are now gone. We now hunt for those who remain vigilant against us.”

“What do you need me for, then?” Asked Steve.

“Simple. We need you as an agent, like she, Guðrún.”

Steve gasped. He looked over his shoulder to where Guðrún had been. She was either not there, or behind the shadows; he could not see her.

A rage worked its way into Steve’s blood. Guðrún had led him to a future of slavery. She had… betrayed him.



...I hope you liked it. Thank you for reading, have a nice day! Constructive criticism is heavily appreciated.