Unfought Wars [Time loop Action Fantasy]

"Sooo, what was all that about?" Hearn says, face innocent.

"Let's disrupt that mana," Finna says, marching off toward the center of the room to pick up the piece of ambronite.

I'm left gasping on my knees next to the bench. I press a hand on my chest, but that does nothing to help me breathe. I place the hand on my face instead, to cover the blush, the grin, and looking like a fish on dry land at the same time.

Rworg walks to me. "It helps to stand. Move a little," he says as he picks me up, lifting me with his hands below my armpits.

I take a few halting steps.

The shadows rotate and move around the room as Finna walks around with the ambronite. "We have to be pretty close, right?" she says.

"I'd think so too," Hearn says. "They wouldn't add a plaque like this somewhere that isn't important, and the route here was just a single corridor. It all feels like it's leading somewhere, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," I croak, forcing my back to straighten.

"That is the spirit," Rworg says, nodding at me. He points at the other exit in the room. "There is only one way to go. Forward!"

The light doesn't change anymore, not in the way that it did earlier. Before, it dimmed as we climbed up into slower time. Now the lights grow brighter, the motes blazing inside the walls, before we walk closer and the ambronite snuffs them out. The corridor still stretches only forward, not turning or having any intersections anymore.

The air is blue with mana. It looks like smoke, almost opaque with how thick it hangs in the air. Not just ragged clouds or wisps, but a thick fog covering the whole corridor. This must be what Lictor was talking about. The air looks positively noxious. At the edge of the ambronite's area of effect, the fog flows in, like it's trying to suffocate us, only to disappear and leave a bubble of clear air around us.

Rworg walks a bit ahead, but Finna, Hearn and I are pressed close together, to stay as near to the chunk of ambronite as possible. I have a feeling the runes wouldn't have lasted a second out here. It feels more dangerous than the Kertharians rushing down the hill, when we set the second stake and the entire huge camp attacked us. Knowing what I now do about the effects of mana, it seems preposterous that Lictor sent us here, said we'd be fine. This much stuff would leave us drooling idiots immediately, Rworg's heart would explode out of pure excitement. I don't even want to think what would happen to Finna.

I glance at Hearn. He creeps forward next to me, eyes locked on the blue fog, swallowing every couple of steps. He must be thinking about knowing the rune.

"You're sure that the ambronite will last?" I ask him.

"Yes. Nothing affects ambronite. But… I can't help worrying a bit, anyway," he says, flashing me a tense smile.

Something moves in the mana vapor. Something shaped like a human. It stumbles, walking like they are asleep, arms hanging down and swinging in the time of their steps.

Rworg moves a hand on his sword. The figure doesn't look like it could be dangerous, with how slow it moves, but I guess this is not the time to stop being cautious. Rworg holds a hand out to the side, signaling for us to slow down.

"What is it?" Finna asks, peering out into the fog. "What is that?"

"Can it be one of the whitelings?" I ask. "I mean, one of the jonungaard who's lost their minds," I continue, throwing a guilty glance at Hearn.

He sighs. "If they are stumbling around in that soup, there can't be much left of them. Still, let me try to greet him."

"Are you sure?" Rworg asks, stepping aside to let Hearn take the front.

He nods, eyes locked on the figure. Hearn raises his hands, pointing the backs of his hands at the figure. It stumbles closer haltingly, every step looking like it might tip them over.

As it comes closer, Hearn's eyes widen. "Lirn?" he asks, reaching his hands out to the figure. "Lirn!"

Rworg grabs hold of Hearn's tunic, pulling him back before he can rush out into the mana. "We wait for him."

We walk forward to meet the white figure. It is one of the whitelings. Naked, skin completely smooth and hairless, except the thick white hair growing up to their waist. His face is blank, mouth slightly parted. Lirn's red eyes move to Hearn, and a vacant smile crosses his face.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Lirn! It's me, Hearn!" he shouts. Hearn grabs hold of the whiteling's shoulders, even when Rworg tries to grab at him, grunting a warning. Hearn shakes the whiteling, who smiles back, eyes empty.

"You were an old man when you left," Hearn says, tears streaking down his face. "Where did you get all this hair, you bald fool?"

"Friend of yours?" Finna asks, rising on tiptoes to look at the whiteling over Hearn's shoulder.

"A neighbor," he says. "He was our scout before me. He never came back."

"Well, you got him back now," Finna says.

When I watch Lirn's vacant expression, I'm not so sure if he did.

We take a break, sitting in the circle of darkness, surrounded by the white light of the blazing motes and the blue shining fog. Lirn sits between us, hands on his lap. Unlike the feral whitelings, he is calm. Almost serene.

"You think he'll snap out of it?" Finna asks, poking him in the shoulder.

He doesn't react, only leans slightly to the side, in the direction she pushes.

Hearn has a hand pressed on his mouth, like he can't believe any of this. He lets it fall and takes a deep breath. "I don't know. I don't. There's no telling how long he has been out here. Days? Years? Centuries? I remember this is how he looked when we were young. If time has been turned back on him, what could he even remember?"

"Time cannot be turned back," Rworg says.

"Well, what about the Mountain Ride, then?" Finna asks.

"I do not know, but all the texts say that time cannot be turned back," Rworg says, nodding firmly.

I tune them out, focusing on watching Lirn. His hair looks astonishing, like the finest drawing of a maiden. His nails are long and immaculate, shining as if polished only a moment ago. Even the soles of his feet look smooth and soft. A baby would be jealous of them.

"I don't think it's about time," I say. "It's about magic again. Remember what happened when we got Finna back?"

"Not really," she says.

"No," Rworg says. "How is this related?"

I groan, rubbing my eyes. "Look at him! He's been remade. He looks brand new all over."

Hearn leans in and takes Lirn's hand. He rubs his fingers on his palms, frowning. "You're right. There are no scratches, no nicks. His hands are like a newborn's."

"Why are they all naked? Does the mana burn off their clothes?" Finna asks.

I shrug. Maybe it's just been so long, the clothes have tattered off. As Hearn said, he could have been here for centuries, with how the time runs and if the mana has kept him alive.

"We must take him with us," Hearn says.

"Of course," Rworg says.

"What?" Finna asks, throwing a look at Rworg. "Why?"

"He still has family in Jonun," Hearn says firmly. He doesn't continue for a while, just keeps rubbing Lirn's palm. "Maybe he can recover. He might be able to teach again, once he gets away from all this mana. Maybe—"

"Enough," Rworg says. "Do not worry. We will get him home."

The tremor hits us. The corridor cracks and shakes, the sound like two mountains falling on each other just outside the walls. Finna and I scream. Lirn joins in, howling senselessly, with Hearn pressing on his hand with both of his. Rworg spreads his legs wide, holding steady as the corridor flexes. The stone screams, sounding like a string that's being tightened almost to snapping point.

I stand slowly, keeping my stance low. The ground shudders once, but then all is quiet again.

"Is it over?" Hearn asks.

"That was quick," Rworg says. "Nice."

Finna bounces up and punches him on the ribs. "It's not nice!"

A thought hits me, leaving my face feeling cold. A shiver goes through my back. "We have to hurry," I say.

"Yeah, suddenly think so?" Finna says.

"No. I mean it! What do you think will happen to this whole place if some part of the corridors break? You remember what happened when we just chipped the corridor? It's a miracle the stone has held together so far!"

"I wasn't there, remember?" Finna says. "Hey!"

Rworg turns her around and throws her backpack into her hands. He then yanks Hearn and Lirn to their feet. His face is pale, as he licks his lips. "I did not think of that. That is… that is a good point."

Finna glances at Rworg and struggles to pull the backpack on. She lifts my bag and shoves it into my hands, pushing the chunk of ambronite into it. "If that dumbass is serious, I guess it's serious. Get a move on, Big Foot."

We can't move as fast as I'd hope. Now with five of us, it's harder to keep inside the bubble of clear air the ambronite provides. Lirn has to be half-dragged, half-carried. After a while, Rworg throws me his sword and grabs Lirn, lifting the thin white man easily onto his shoulders. I drag the sword behind me, tip scratching the floor. Rworg turns to frown at me doing it, but then seems to remember the sword is frozen in time and the edge won't dull or nick. I can't imagine what he could do in a battle with the blade frozen like this. It's sharp like a razor and weighs probably more than I do. At least that's what it feels like to drag it around.

Lirn bounces on Rworg's shoulders. At least Hearn put some pants on for him, so it doesn't feel as indecent as it could. I haven't had a change of clothes since leaving Tenorsbridge. Once I get home, Gran will probably burn all my clothes before letting me step inside.

I hear the thrumming first. A low throbbing, like my whole chest is a beating heart.

"Anyone else feel that?" Finna asks.

"Yeah," I say.

The mana fog is getting even thicker. I can't see more than ten steps ahead, before the corridor vanishes into deep blue, as if I was trying to look to the bottom of a deep lake. Light flashes through the fog, the blue flashing brighter in time with the throbbing.

When we step into the room, the sound is so loud, it feels like I'm going to vomit with every beat. The walls are black stone, but everything is bright white mixed with blue. Light flows into the room from dozens of grills along the floor and the walls. The currents and swirls are the only way to know that the mana isn't equally thick everywhere. The entire Monolith must be pumping all the mana up here. The fog presses out through the grills like someone is working on massive bellows, squeezing bright blue smoke into the room that is already filled to the brim.

Finna gasps. She's pointing up at the ceiling.

I follow her gaze and gasp as well. The sky. For the first time in who knows how long, I see the sky. Covered by what looks like a black glass ceiling, the sun shines feebly through the fog and the thick, dark material. Fault lines run along the glass, with the mana forcing itself out through the cracks. It still holds, but for how long?