When morning finally arrived, Gordon woke with a renewed sense of purpose. He prepared a simple breakfast, trying to calm his nerves. He knew he had to face Markus, to ask for his help. He couldn't avoid the truth any longer. He left his cottage and made his way towards Markus's house.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and knocked on the door.
He heard a muffled sound from inside, and then the door swung open, revealing Markus, his face etched with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Gordon? What brings you here so early?" Markus asked, his voice low.
"I… I need to talk to you," Gordon said, his voice hesitant. "It's about Mr. Suhat's house."
Markus nodded, stepping aside to allow Gordon to enter. "Come in," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."
Gordon stepped into the small, sparsely furnished room, his gaze fixed on the floor. He felt a wave of shame wash over him, but he knew he had to be honest.
"I… I chickened out," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I was supposed to spend the night at Mr. Suhat's house, to investigate the… the presence. But I couldn't do it. I was too afraid."
He looked up at Markus, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and desperation. "I know I promised to help, but… I just couldn't face it. I'm sorry."
Markus looked at him, his expression thoughtful. He didn't say anything for a moment, then he placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder.
"It's alright, Gordon," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Everyone gets scared. There's no shame in admitting it."
Gordon looked at him, his eyes filled with disbelief. "But… but you're not afraid," he said. "You're a hero."
Markus smiled faintly. "I'm just a man, Gordon," he said. "And I've been afraid plenty of times. But fear doesn't have to control you. You can choose how you react to it."
"But I ran," Gordon said, his voice laced with self-disgust. "I ran away."
"And tomorrow, you can choose to walk back," Markus said. "That's what makes a hero, Gordon. Not the absence of fear, but the courage to face it."
Gordon nodded, a flicker of hope rekindling within him. "Thank you, Markus," he said, his voice sincere. "I… I don't know what I would do without you."
"We all need help sometimes," Markus said, offering a reassuring smile. "But about Mr. Suhat's house, I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you."
Gordon's heart sank. "Oh," he said, his voice laced with disappointment. "I understand. You're busy."
"It's not that," Markus said, his expression turning serious. "I'm leaving this afternoon. With the Keepers of the Flame."
Gordon's eyebrows shot up. "Leaving? Where are you going?"
"To their sanctuary," Markus replied. "It's about this… this fire power. The one that awakened when we fought the hag, they says it's called The Flame of Judgement, it is an ancestral power, passed down from ancestor to descendant. Apparently, it belonged to Valentine Rockback."
Gordon's eyes widened. "Valentine Rockback? The hero who slew the Black Dragon? The one who ended the Seventh Holy War?"
"The same," Markus confirmed. "And apparently, I'm one of his descendants."
Gordon was speechless. He couldn't believe that his friend, was descended from such a legendary hero.
"But… why are you leaving?" Gordon asked, his voice filled with concern.
"Because the power is… unstable," Markus said, his voice low. "It's almost burned me and my house several times. They says without proper guidance, it will consume me. They're going to help me learn to control it."
Gordon's heart sank. He understood. Markus had to go. But he also felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped Markus could help him face his problem, to confront the mystery of Mr. Suhat's house.
"I understand," Gordon said, his voice quiet. "Be careful, Markus."
"I will," Markus said, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "And you be careful too, Gordon. You're stronger than you think. You can face it. Just remember what I said."
Gordon nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I will," he said. "Thank you, Markus."
Gordon walked back to his cottage, his steps slow and heavy, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and disappointment. He kicked a loose pebble on the path, sending it skittering into the tall grass.
"Shitty luck," he muttered under his breath, his words laced with a bitter edge. "Just my luck. The one time I need help, the one person who can actually help me, he's off to learn how to play with fire."
He cursed quietly, a string of muttered complaints about his own incompetence, about the unfairness of the world, about the sheer absurdity of his situation. He had finally found the courage to ask for help, only to be told that help was unavailable.
"What am I supposed to do now?" he asked himself, his voice laced with exasperation. "Go back to Mr. Suhat's house and pretend I'm not terrified? Try to talk to a ghost? Or whatever it is?"
He imagined himself back in the darkened hallways of Mr. Suhat's house, the oppressive silence, the chilling atmosphere, the unseen presence watching from the shadows. He shuddered involuntarily.
"I can't do it alone," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "I'm not strong enough. I'm not brave enough."
He kicked another pebble, sending it flying into the air. "Damn it, Gordon," he said to himself, his voice filled with self-disgust. "You're pathetic. You're a coward. You're useless."
He stopped walking, his gaze fixed on the ground. He felt a wave of self-pity wash over him. He was alone, afraid, and completely out of his depth.
"Maybe I should just give up," he thought, his voice barely a whisper. "Maybe I should just tell Mr. Suhat I can't help him. Maybe I should just go back to… to… whatever I was doing before all this happened."
But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn't do it. He had made a promise. He had given his word. And he couldn't just walk away.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He knew he had to find a way to face his fears, to solve the mystery of Mr. Suhat's house. He just didn't know how.
"Think, Gordon," he said to himself, his voice firm. "Think. There has to be another way."
He started walking again, his steps now more deliberate, his mind focused on the problem at hand. He had to find a solution. He had to find a way to help Mr. Suhat.
As Gordon walked, head down, muttering to himself, he nearly collided with someone coming the other way. He looked up, startled, and found himself face-to-face with Bertha.
His heart skipped a beat. He remembered Lukas's ridiculous claims about Bertha secretly harboring feelings for him. He knew Lukas was just teasing, but a flicker of… something… stirred within him.
Bertha was, undeniably, striking. She possessed a fiery temper, a lioness's spirit, as the villagers often said, but she also had a certain… allure. Her posture was always straight, her gaze sharp, and her movements precise. And, yes, he couldn't deny it, she was beautiful.
He tried to shake off the perverted thoughts that crept into his mind. He knew they were inappropriate, fueled by Lukas's teasing and his own frustration. But he couldn't help but notice the way her dark hair framed her face, the intensity of her eyes, the… well, the undeniable presence she exuded.
"Gordon," Bertha said, her voice sharp and direct, as always. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
A wry smile twisted Gordon's lips. "Something like that," he muttered. "I'm just… having a bad day."
"A bad day?" Bertha asked, her eyebrows slightly raised. "That's a rather vague explanation. Though I suppose, with your new reputation, you have a lot to deal with."
Gordon frowned, confused. "My reputation?"
"Don't play coy, Gordon," Bertha said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "The hero of Oakhaven. The slayer of dark creatures. The wielder of magical power. You're quite the celebrity these days."
Gordon's cheeks flushed. He wasn't comfortable with the attention, and he certainly didn't feel like a hero. "It's not like that," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
"Oh, come now," Bertha teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "Surely, you're enjoying the attention. All the girls in the village must be throwing themselves at your feet. You could have any one of them."
Gordon shifted uncomfortably. "It's not like that either," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "I'm not… I'm not looking for that kind of attention."
"Oh, really?" Bertha asked, her eyebrow raised. "Then what kind of attention are you looking for, Gordon?"
Gordon stammered, his cheeks burning. "I… I'm not looking for any attention," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just want to… to be left alone."
"Left alone?" Bertha asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "That's a strange request for a hero."
"I'm not a hero," Gordon said, his voice firm. "I'm just… Gordon."
"Just Gordon?" Bertha asked, her tone laced with amusement. "And what does 'just Gordon' do?"
"He tries to help people," Gordon said, his voice quiet. "And he tries to do the right thing."
"And is he succeeding?" Bertha asked, her eyes fixed on his.
Gordon hesitated, then shook his head. "Not today," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration.
Bertha's expression softened slightly. "Well," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, "everyone has their off days, even a great hero like you." She then turned and walked away, leaving Gordon standing alone on the path, his mind filled with her words.
"Great hero." Gordon muttered while looking bertha walking away.
He stood there, alone on the path, the weight of his fear and self-doubt slowly lifting. He looked up at the sky, the sun shining brightly, casting long shadows across the ground. He took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs, clearing his mind.
"She's right," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with determination. "I can't give up. I won't give up."
He thought of Mr. Suhat, his kind eyes, his desperation. He thought of the unseen presence in the house, the lingering unease, the feeling of being watched. He thought of Markus, his unwavering courage, his belief in Gordon's ability to overcome this problem.
"I'm a hero," he said aloud, his voice firm. "Or at least, I'm trying to be."
He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. "Fuck this ghost," he declared, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Dead or alive, I'm coming, baby!"