Chapter 3: • Are You A Runner, Boy?
Click. Creak.
The door handle turned slowly in Jarren's hand and the door creaked open, a long creak that seemed to stretch the silence, sounding both tense and oddly comical.
Jarren registered the most casual smile he could muster across his face, and stood there awkwardly as the door revealed him to the two men and revealed the two men to him.
"You might not want to enter there for a while," he said, finally finding his voice and managing a grin. "It stinks."
The two men didn't say anything and silence reigned for about a couple seconds. Jarren's eyes slowly gazed upon the baronial figure of Commander Shoreshanc.
He was in a literal sense Jarren's words brought to life. His features were just as he had narrated — as sharp as a blade, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and steely gray eyes that seemed to see right through him at that moment.
Through one of those gray eyes was a slash scar, given to him from a Paragon he had faced. That and the permanent scowl ingrained into his face gave him a severe, cruel expression.
His uniform was bedecked with medals that showcased his many accomplishments. Shoreshanc was a man who took pride in his rank and position, because he knew how important it was being the gatekeeper between survival and death.
Jarren's eyes flickered from Shoreshanc's stern gaze to the smaller figure standing next to him.
Zenith Moonbreak.
Jarren froze. It was like the boy had been ripped out of his own imagination.
Just like every other writer, Jarren had imagined seeing his characters come to life before. In his mind, they'd always been animated, or part of some live-action adaptation. But this... this was real.
Zenith Moonbreak, the Flamekeeper, was standing right in front him.
Of course, he wasn't the Flamekeeper yet. He probably didn't even know what that word meant at this stage. However, he was just as Jarren had written him in the early Chapters of the novel.
Zenith was scrawny but undeniably handsome. His unruly dark hair hung over his forehead and with his small face, he had a boyish charm that very much hid the raw potential burning inside him.
He wore a black leather gear, obviously hand-me-downs or scavenged from the slumlands as it was frayed and patched in places. And of course, the famous small cape that draped down to his waist behind him.
Strapped to that waist was a small, almost unremarkable dagger, the very same one Jarren knew would be used to slay an Awakened Paragon inside the Gate Trials that they were about to face today.
Unbelievable. This was all just unbelievable.
Noticing the white-haired boy staring at him, Zenith's sharp brown eyes narrowed quizzically, almost as though the hero of Jarren's story was trying to figure out what was wrong with this stranger.
"Are you okay?" Zenith asked him with a calm expression on his face.
'Am I okay? Am I... Is that even a real question? My own creation is talking to me. How can I be okay?!' Jarren blinked. 'This is real. This is actually happening.'
Before he could say anything, Commander Shoreshanc barked, "You!"
Jarren's gaze immediately shifted back to the commander who had a glare in his face that was sure to freeze fire.
"You think this is a joke?" his voice dripped with suspicion.
Jarren gulped. "No, sir."
Shoreshanc's eyes narrowed at him. "What is your name?"
That question suddenly left Jarren a little confused. "My name?"
"Are you suddenly deaf?"
"No," he shook his head tentatively. "My name is Deremiah."
"Dere—" The commander lifted a curious brow at him. "Hmm. Well, Deremiah, hiding in the bathroom in hopes of escaping the Trials makes you a runner. Was that what you were doing? Are you a runner, boy?"
Jarren, knowing exactly what that meant and the punishment that came with it, shook his head once again, more vigorously this time. "No. No, I'm not. It was just a difficult... release."
All three remained in silence after that. Tense silence, but once again, slightly comedic.
"Good," Shoreshanc gruffed. "Because if that's what you were doing, then the punishment you should know is far worse than what awaits you in the Gates."
Jarren felt his stomach twist.
"Come with me," the commander ordered, his tone making it clear that Jarren had no choice in the matter. "If I find out that you are a runner trying to escape your duty, I'll see to it that you're dealt with properly. I won't have cowardly deserters under my watch."
Once again, Jarren swallowed hard. He knew exactly what Shoreshanc was implying, because he had created the term himself, alongside the punishment.
Runners were those who tried to flee the Trials, either by running away or, like Deremiah, attempting to kill themselves. The punishment of the crime was so severe that people didn't even speak of it. They were considered traitors to the realm, and Shoreshanc had no patience for them.
Jarren took a deep breath and followed the commander, but for one last time, he glanced at Zenith, whose brow furrowed as he himself was also curious of the white haired boy, having no idea that he was the person who had created him.
The protagonist ended his curious look, shrugged slightly and entered the bathroom.
Jarren looked away and continued behind Commander Shoreshanc as they walked through the linear and wide halls of the Main Barracks. That was when Jarren's consciousness realized that he was in the Main Barracks.
His jaw fell.
No matter how many times he had tried to remind himself that this was actually happening, it became more and more impossible to believe.
He was actually in a manifestation of his imagination!
The Main Barracks was an unending wall that stood at the ends of the Mortal Realm and rose as high as a thousand feet. It was the place where Waveknights gathered, trained and prepared for the Waves.
It served as a fortress or a garrison and was also the frontline where they stayed to defend the rest of the Realm from the arriving Paragons of Middle Realm.
And, it was exactly as he had imagined it.
Rows of warriors lined the hall, practicing drills, sparring, swords blessed with the energy of Aether clashed against other swords. Waveknights wearing inner-gear walked into a station where they retrieved their armor, and the voices of instructors echoed from left and right.
'This is the world I created,' Jarren thought. 'It's all real. Every character, every detail. It's... real.'
As Shoreshanc led him deeper into the heart of the Main Barracks, he asked himself a question: 'Was this truly a nightmare, or was this every author's dream?'