Arlene followed Wattyson into the cottage. The enigmatic man lightly tapped his staff like a cane, lifted his free hand to one of the sofa inviting her to sit. She bowed her head slightly, muttered out a low “Thank you”. Wattyson didn’t turn around, grunted in acknowledgement while striding to the kitchen.

  Arlene took a seat, noting on the room. It was dimly lit. Not due to the red forest’s roof covering the sun, it was because of the amount of papers and scrolls lying and stacking all over. Near the chimney were small knives and wands hanging above.

  She gnced over to her left and saw Wattyson emerging out. bancing two cups on a tray. He was limping. “Are you hurt?” asked Arlene as she rose to her, intending to take the tray for him.

  “Sit” commanded Wattyson, his voice was cut like knives. He carefully set down the tray on a coffee table. “Here, Jasmine tea” offered Wattyson. He then took his own cup and sat down on a lounge chair across her, resting his legs on the ottoman.

  It was quiet now. Just the sound of Wattyson sipping his tea. Arlene gnced around more as she drank her tea. She shifted her body slightly, fidgeting about. Arlene finally let out in a low tone, “So uhh… what are those scrolls for?” she tried for any topics to start a conversation.

  Wattyson gnced to her, putting the cup down on a coffee table. “None of your business” he scoffed, before adding “Though I might let you know if you tell me what you’re actually here for.” He leaned forward, putting both hands above his mouth, his elbows resting on the armchair. “Answer me this first, who’s your mentor?”

  Arlene gulped before answering his question. She straightened her posture and put the teacup down. “His name is Vilvane. He said he knew you since he was a boy.” Her eyes softened in memory of her wizened mentor, her voice was low, tinged with solemn. “Before he passed, he said… I should seek you out.”

  Wattyson studied her, how she conducted herself when she answered. His eyebrows shifted slightly. “I don’t know any Vivne” he answered in the same tone as hers. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “It’s ok” assured Arlene, her expression a bit lighter now. She giggled to herself a bit, “Yeah… I don’t think you do. You look like you’re in your mid-twenties…” Her eyes met with his, her face set with quite resolve. “However, the fact remained. He asked me to seek you out.”

  She pced her hand on her chest, “My mentor told me there are some things more dangerous than the Dark Lord hidden amidst the mundane. He always spoke of you with reverence.”

  Her voice wavered yet her gaze steady. She rose to her feet and took a deep breath, gathering her courage “Please… if you can help me in any way, please join me on my quest!” She bowed deeply toward Wattyson.

  Puzzlement was etched into Wattyson’s face before quickly lifting both hands up, motioning her to sit down. “Sit. Come now I don’t like formality!” She sat back down, trying to pick up her teacup but fumbled before her fingers tching properly on the cup. Wattyson sighed as he tilted his head, his hand massaging his neck. “Alright… if you’re already this desperate” Wattyson muttered.

  He stood up, using the armchair to support himself. He began “So tell me... Aralynn.”

  “Arlene” she corrected, barely a whisper.

  “Arlene” so did Wattyson. “What do you know of the supernatural?”

  Arlene raised her eyebrows, her voice ced with innocence, “Supernatural? Like dragons and mythical beasts?”

  Wattyson picked up one of the many papers lying about. “No,” he answered softly. “Those are just part of the natural mundane world. I’m talking about those that live among humans, elves and others like vampires, werewolves, faeries, ghosts- “

  “Vampire are real?!” gasped Arlene, her jaw dropping and eyes widening. “I thought stuffs like those are just fairy tales!”

  Wattyson stepped closer to Arlene, handing her the paper about vampires. “Oh yes,” he confirmed. “All those fairy tales? Usually come from real – just watered down for bad, bad children” his tone was gruff and low.

  Arlene read out the paper he gave. About vampires, their biology and how superior their strengths were to the common people, even elite knights. “Strength equal to ten elite knights?!” her eyes locked the contents.

  Though she was the Chosen One, elite knight wasn’t anything to scoff at. They could handle themselves fine on the battlefield against horde of orcs and goblins. She lifted her head up to lock on Wattyson, “You’re kidding?”

  “Nuh uh” he answered pyfully, before expining in a schorly way, “Unlike in actual battlefield, strength and strategy can be formed mid battle. Against the supernatural? A person need to know and prepare what they’re up against before facing one.”

  Arlene quickly let out “Of course… battlefield also include pnning, what’s so different here?”

  “Pnning take up ninety percent of the encounter” said Wattyson, now had his staff for stability. “Pn died when a battle and whatnot began, against a supernatural? You can trust the pn and preparation you made….” He paused before adding “assuming you’re working on the correct intel that is.”

  Arlene let his words sink in slowly, her gaze downward to the floor. Everything she knew from her days as the Chosen One turned upside down. It wasn’t mostly fighting and coordinating with party members in a quest to sy the Dark Lord anymore.

  A few moments of quiet ter, a voice pierced through her mind. “You can always live in blissful ignorance, pretending you never knew.” She tightened her fists on her thigh and looked up with fire in her eyes. “No,” she said with confidence. “I’m the Chosen One. I cannot turn my back to this.”

  She stood up, facing him, her hand rested on the pommel. “I ask you again, Wattyson. Please lend me your aid on this quest!” she didn’t bow down this time. Her gaze remained fixed on his.