In a hotel bed elsewhere in the kingdom lay a man named Jay, smiling softly to himself.
This hotel—it was a nice hotel. The furnishings, the bedclothes, the privacy. It wasn't often he was ever truly alone.
Not alone, of course. Two cat-women were lying beside him, purring contentedly.
"So, ladies," said Jay, "tell me about this Crimson Savior. Is he really as powerful as they say?"
The darker of the cat-women chuckled, tracing his clean-shaven jaw with one clawed finger. "Oh, don't worry about him. He's not nearly as powerful as you are."
Jay wasn't convinced. He smiled at the cat-woman, arose from the bed, and donned a short silken robe. He stood on the balcony of his room. The moon was high and full and bright, bright enough to illuminate a good portion of the town.
How would he contact the savior? Once he got to him, what would he do? What sort of person was this savior, anyway? Probably a god-like being, mighty and powerful without a vestige of empathy for the lesser humans. Or maybe a warrior, seven feet tall and bearded with glowing eyes and muscles the size of trees.
"I won't let you down, Father," Jay murmured to the moonlight.
That night, after the cat-women went home, Jay dreamt of the ancient temple that stood just outside the Crimson Kingdom's border. He heard a whispered voice and saw a door, surrounded by runes and blessings and curses, begin to glow orange.
"It is come, it is come!" said the voice as it grew loud enough to be heard. "The time has come to unleash the Beast, so that the prophecy shall be fulfilled. The time is complete that it should stand idly by. It must rise and aid the Chosen Ones in their trials and tribulations."
The voice grew louder and louder until it was deafening, and in an instant, all was silent again. The door stopped glowing, and there was no noise except for the rustling of the wind in the weeds that grew in the cracks of the temple.
Jay wondered if it happened at all.
***
After breakfast the next morning, King Liam summoned Luke to meet his new trainer. "She's a veteran, and the only user of holy light magic in the world," the king said as he led Luke to the sparring grounds. "She's good with the sword, too. If she were a bit younger, she'd be able to defeat the Demon King herself."
"What's her name?"
"Madeline. Miss Madeline to you."
They had reached the training field, and King Liam nodded to the only other person there—a decrepit woman with a hunched back and stringy white hair.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crimson Savior," said Miss Madeline. Her voice trembled with age. "I'll train you for as long as I'm able. When I'm gone, I'll give you some books to read on light magic. You're smart enough to teach yourself, I hope?"
"How are you supposed to train me?" Luke asked.
Madeline smiled and grabbed two wooden sticks, throwing one of them to Luke. He dropped it. "You can't even catch a weapon," she said. "How are you supposed to win a war? Come. Fight me."
Luke laughed. " I'd kill you with one hit!" He looked at King Liam. "Is she serious?"
King Liam shrugged. "She'll surprise you."
Luke clutched his wooden sword. "Fine. But if she keels over and dies, it's not my fault."
He charged Madeline, who stood with a smile in her eyes, waiting for his attack. He lashed out, hoping to give Madeline a quick tap in the ribs. Instead, his sword met only with air.
Where'd she go?
Luke stopped and turned around, only to feel the wooden sword on the side of his neck. He raised his hands in surrender.
"Fine. You win."
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