Tales of demons and gods

Thor hurried back to the Legion’s barracks at the crack of dawn, luckily arriving before the day’s training began. He was winded when he arrived, Krohn at his side, and he ran into the other boys just as they were waking, beginning to file out for the day’s assignments. He stood there, gasping, more troubled than ever. He hardly knew how he would make it through the day’s training; he would be counting down the minutes until the night’s feast, until he could warn the King. He felt certain the omen came to him so that he could deliver the warning. The fate of the kingdom rested on his shoulders. Thor ran up beside Reece and O’Connor as they made their way out to the field, looking exhausted, and began to line up. “Where were you last night?” Reece asked. Thor wished he knew how to respond—but he didn’t really know where he had been himself. What was he supposed to say? That he had fallen asleep outside on the ground, on Argon’s mountain? It made no sense, not even to him. “I don’t know,...

"A month. One month of relatively active life. I’m afraid, this is all you’ve got left," the doctor removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. I knew of course that his profession would make anyone a cynic. And still he didn’t seem to be delivering the news lightly. The doctor shook his head, his hair gray before his time. "Yes, a month," he pursed his lips, hesitating, then blurted, "It’ll be the question of what runs out first: your health reserves, your will to live in ever-growing agony—or your ability to finance therapy and medications.  Konjiki no wordmaster I hope you’ll excuse me for being so blatant. I’m very sorry. Normally, we don’t inform our patients in case of a Class A diagnosis. We contact their relatives, but you don’t seem to have listed any. What a shame. I don’t think that spending the next month in and out of surgeries will be worth your while. We just can’t do anything for you. An inoperable brain tumor is indeed the end of th...