Breaking the Cycle
(A story heavily inspired by The Dark Queen of Mortholme)
The first time I meet you, you are a nuisance.
There is nothing remarkable about you. Just another upstart adventurer who has gotten it in their head that they should kill me. No fancy armor, no legendary weapon, I’m not even sure how you made it past all of my guards.
You die at my feet with a single blow from my weapon.
And I pay no mind to another dead hero.
-
The next few times all blur together. More adventurers challenging my rule, more would-be heroes falling to my blade.
It’s not until the 6th or 7th time that I realize it’s you. That they’ve all been you.
Your hood falls back, and I recognize your dark curls. Even in death you glare up at me in defiance.
And I start to consider the deaths I’ve given you.
-
The first time I acknowledge it, I do nothing more than confuse us both.
I’m no stranger to protected heroes, and I’ve dealt with my fair share of resurrecting types, but this sort of resurrection is usually the realm of my side of the fight.
It’s simple, a grumbled “You again?” when you stumble into my throne room.
But then your face scrunches up in confusion, and you tell me you’ve never seen me before, that you traveled here from the village you were raised in to end my tyrannical reign.
You die to my blade all the same, but your words echo in my skull.
-
I realize that it has been too long since I last left my throne room. The dark pact allows my body to subsist purely on the power of my empire, so I don’t strictly *need* to leave.
But I fear I have grown complacent.
I ask my minions about you, and they seem confused. They tell me that none of the adventurers they’ve seen recently match your description.
But I remember you. I remember intimately now, each time you’ve fallen to my blade. The defiant look you give me as the light leaves your eyes, it’s the same every time.
The next time I see you, I ask you your name before killing you.
-
You’ve gotten better at fighting me, somehow, inexplicably. Despite the fact that you clearly do not remember our encounters, you’ve started to react better to my attack patterns. It takes me longer to kill you now. You’re still nowhere near skilled enough to truly challenge me, but it is curious nonetheless.
I greet you by your name, the next time you step into my throne room. I tell you that I know you, that we have fought many times before. I tell you not to be afraid when you fall to my blade, and that we will see each other again regardless.
You are shaken by this, and for the first time I see something other than defiance in your gaze when I kill you.
-
I start to notice the patterns.
Whatever is happening seems to be bigger than just the two of us. Things change every time I kill you. Not quite different, but not quite the same.
I start to realize that you always reach my throne room at the same time, on the same day. The shadows are always the same, the sun is always at the same spot in the sky.
I ask my minions about you again, and they give me the same response, word for word.
Something happens when I kill you. Something happens, and the needle skips, and I remember, but the world does not.
-
The next time you stumble into my throne room, I am prepared. I have a gift for you.
I toss a legendary blade at your feet. One of a number in my collection. It glows in your hands when you lift it, and I smile for the first time in a long time. It’s the first time you’ve seen me smile, certainly. I wonder what is going through your head, seeing me for the first time like this. Am I what you expected? Have I ever been?
Will I ever be?
Our fight this time is much more satisfying, but you die all the same. The smile fades from my face, just as the light fades from your sword.
I start to wonder at the point of all of this.
-
The next time an adventurer steps into my throne room, it is not you.
I look up expecting to see your face, and instead see another.
I am at once both confused and furious, I slaughter them before they can take another step into my domain.
I am also terrified.
I find myself fearing for the loss of what we have, whatever it is. Has our strange dance ended? Or has it merely been interrupted? And why? The pattern has lasted far too long to assume it would change. You are a constant in my life now. The one break in the monotony of my rule.
In a horrible realization, I learn that I have come to care for you.
-
You return the next time, and I am ashamed of the relief I feel.
It confuses you, I imagine. The relieved smile that splits my face when you step into my throne room.
“It is good to see you again,” I tell you, tossing your blade at your feet (I am already considering it yours).
“Again?” You ask, and I chuckle. It is a strange game we play with each other. I have grown and changed since the first time we met, but you still barge into my throne room the same as you did the first time.
I tell you that you didn’t show up last time, and that I had feared this little dance of ours was over. I tell you that I am glad that it isn’t. This flusters you, and you swing the blade to distract from your nerves.
When you die this time, I brush your eyelids closed with my fingertips.
-
The next time you come, I leave your sword at the entrance to my castle. I tell my minions that it is yours if you can take it.
When you confront me, you are much more skilled with this blade than the previous times, having learned the weight of it against my minions.
I find myself challenged for the first time in a long time, and I find myself smiling again.
And then you die, and the smile falls from my face.
-
I am not in the throne room the next time you arrive. I am standing out on a terrace, observing the view from my dark castle when you stumble through a door looking confused. My weapon rests, sheathed, against the railing. I turn to you and smile.
The legendary blade rests comfortably in your hand, you are confident with it now. When you look up at me, there is no sign of fear in your eyes.
“You weren’t in the throne room,” You say, confusion creasing your brow, “Why weren’t you in your throne room?”
The way you say this gives me pause for a moment. As if that is where I am meant to be, where I am expected to be. It makes me consider this cycle we keep going through, and whether I truly have any control in this game we play.
“Is a queen not entitled to the fruits of her empire?” I ask, gesturing to the view from the terrace. And then I surprise myself. “It’s quite a view, would you like to join me for a moment?”
I see the way you look at me, wary and suspicious, and I try to ignore the small spark of hope in my heart, that you will spend this moment with me.
And then you lower your weapon slightly, and step up to the railing. I hear you gasp as you glimpse the vista. Vast lands stretch out before us, rolling hills cut through with rivers, and jagged mountains visible in the distance. A small smile graces my lips.
I’ve been smiling quite a bit more since I met you.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Your voice is quiet, confused, and I let out resigned sigh. I start to speak, and you surprise me by listening. I tell you that I have learned much from you. I tell you, again, about the cycle I am seemingly trapped in, fighting you over and over again, and being the only one who remembers. Reluctantly, I tell you that I am scared. I tell you that I fear for my own agency, I fear that I have no control over this repeating cycle of events, that I am trapped here, doomed to repeat our encounters unto infinitum.
Finally, I tell you that I am scared that it will end. In a quiet voice I tell that I am scared the cycle will stop, and I will lose this strange connection I have with you. The first genuine connection I have felt in a very long time.
And then it is quiet.
I stare out at the vista, avoiding your gaze. There are not tears on my cheeks, but it is a close thing.
Your voice is soft when you speak again. You tell me you don’t think you can stop yourself from trying to kill me, that it is in your nature. It is what you have been working towards all your life. Who are you, without a tyrant to slay? And indeed who am I, without a hero to challenge me?
I nod in acceptance. It is nothing less than I expected.
“Do what you must, then,” I say, keeping my eyes on the view, and leaving my sword resting against the railing. “I am tired of killing the one person I care for.”
And then, for the first time since this dance started, you win.
I pray that it is everything you hoped for.
