The Realms of Waters

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Copyright © 2023 by Anthony Waters

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To my beloved family and friends, who in my darkest hour, like stars, shine a bright light in my life

A Writer’s Journey

Sitting down on my desk, there is a pile of blank pieces of paper before me and in my hand a pen ready for action. My eyes gaze hopelessly throughout the first blank paper searching for the words that I can use, but I cannot see any, not even for if my life depended on it. I am as blank as the paper before me and asking myself what to write. My heart is crying at me, Write, you fool! 

Suddenly, my mind began to run into an enormous dark maze, filled with many twists and turns, traps, monsters and dead ends—but nothing concrete. It was all chaotic. The walls had numerous words written all over it. The words started screaming and begging for me to write them on the paper. There were some words that I recognize and some that I did not. Perhaps it came from a fantasy or science fiction world. I do not know, for all I know it could have come from anywhere. Ahhh!

I started getting frustrated by seeing all these words. I wanted to scream but could not find my voice to do so. I want to write something so bad. I want to write the best story I can conjure up—a story that can be engaging for readers to enjoy. The problem was that I just cannot find myself what words I can use to write a story. Should I simply write a short story, novel, poem, essay, or a play? Should it be a drama, science fiction, non-fiction, fantasy, romance, tragedy, horror, thriller, or action? WHAT!

The literary world is so vast, I do not see how I can find my way through this maze filled with countless words. So many voices screaming inside my head. Which one should I listen to? How could I focus on the one voice? I cannot just wait here and do nothing. I must take the first step, some form of action. 

Suddenly, within a blink of an eye, I was no longer sitting in my apartment. I was sitting in complete darkness as if I were locked up in some underground dungeon. Out of the darkness, I saw someone coming to me, carrying a torch. Whoever it was, they was walking towards me. It was an elf. She was exceptionally beautiful looking elf. Her skin was white as snow, long silver hair, crystal purple eyes and dress in a sapphire gown with purple gems on the trims around her neck. There was such peace surrounding this character, and I felt that I could trust her completely. She smiled at me as she stretched out her hand towards me, and I took it without thinking much about it.

She guided me away from my chair. I realized I was surround by large walls built by large blocks. I began to question if I was going through a maze or some sort of underground passage of a castle. We walked in silence and eventually came to a big wooden door that looked medieval. It seems solid with no door handle at all, but it did have two fierce dragons engraved. It appeared as they were locked in an epic battle.

The elf waved across the door, and it magically open all by itself. Inside was a big fireplace with two big armchairs in front of it. On top of the fireplace was a skull of an exceptionally large dragon. It had multiple horns sprinting from its head, and its mouth was wide open as if it were about to breathe fire upon unfortunate souls. I was so memorized by it that I did not realize we sat down in the chairs, which were quite comfortable when I came back to my senses. 

Welcome, my lord. She smiled. I’ve been expecting you for quite some time. I pray you find this room to your liking.

My lord? I questioned, But I’m no lord, and what do you mean you’ve been expecting me?

Yes. My people and I have been expecting you for quite some time.

Why? I asked scratching my head. I’m just a simple writer looking for a story.

My name is Zalkia, queen of the winter elves, and you’re the lord of our story.

You mean by being a writer…I’m a lord? I asked. 

Quite right, my lord, replied Zalkia. Our story is for you to write. You’re the voice of our story.

Why me?

 Because you’re the only one that can bring justice to our story and tell it as it’s meant to be told.

I don’t know what to say, I said in disbelief.

There’s nothing to say. She smiled. 

I’m honored, but I don’t have paper or a pen.

No need to worry about that at the present. You shall remember everything when you return to your realm, she said with great assurance, but you should not waste any time once you return. Every moment counts. You must write everything down quickly before we become lost forever.

Really?

Zalkia nodded with a smile.

Then, let us not waste any more time. Please, tell me your story, I pleaded. 

My people have suddenly been attacked by the fire dragons from the southern land of Ferogahn. We have grown quite desperate and must seek the aid of the ice dragons from the north, but no one has seen them for many countless years. With a little hope left, a party was put together in hopes to find them and put an end to the terror of the fire dragons.

Zalkia continued to detail the story of her people and more of the world in which they lived in. She also mentions about secret missions that have been carried out to doom her people, including multiple assassination attempts. Many situations demanded desperate actions. The world was filled with numerous dangers, darks secrets, betrayals, and so much more. No details were left untold, especially when it came to the epic battles. 

It was truly magical, filled with emotions, purpose, and hope. At the same time, I was learning from her about storytelling, for the more she shared, the more engaged I was into her story. This is how I wanted to write my story.

After what seemed an eternity, I suddenly appeared back on my desk. Everything was back as it was, but my mind was not on my surroundings. I was still questioning what had happened and how I got back from wherever I was... It took me a few moments to gather myself, and then—without even thinking—I started to write everything I’ve experience. 

I have finally found my story.

Six months later

I quickly came home with great excitement because I made a book deal with a local book publisher for the story The Winter Elf Queen. The agent loved the story so much she asked me if I could expand the story with at least two to three more books. I quickly said yes! For the next few weeks, I have been in constant contact with my agent as she gave me a few pointers to help me polish the story and get it ready for everyone to read and enjoy. She estimated the book to be ready to be publish by the end of the year. 

After grabbing a quick snack and drink, I went to my desk, grabbed some papers and pens. Then, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, clearing my mind and getting ready to begin writing. The moment I opened my eyes, I was once again sitting by the fireplace with Zalkia sitting right across from me, but this time she was quite different from the last time we met.  She looked more like a warrior than a queen. Her hair barely touched her jaw line. She had a three claws’ marks across her right eye and wore a light ebony armor. On her side hip was a scimitar tied to her left hip and a crossbow resting on her back.  

Zalkia…

As much pleasure it is to see you again, my lord, there’s more deadly danger rising from the deep south mountains, said Zalkia with the most serious face. No time can be wasted. Are you ready?

Yes, I’m ready, I said with great determination to continue to bring justice to her story. Please tell what has happen?

The Marine

Laos, Vietnam 1975

A heavy thunderstorm was rumbling its way over the jungle in the late hours of the night. The rain and wind were coming down strong, causing the nearby river to overflow and flood the streets, forcing many people to evacuate to higher ground. Some remained indoors, but others who lived in low ground had quickly fled to relatives that lived in the mountains. The streets were completely emptied, giving the village the appearance that it was abandon. No one would be foolish enough to challenge the storm, but there was one man who dared to venture through Mother Nature’s wrath. 

This man was not bothered by the rain or by the howling wind. He was not bothered by anything of the natural element for he had a mission to complete. Known to be an expert at the game of death and stealth. He was a biological killing machine known as a US marine: Sergeant Richard Wilson.

He quietly ventured through the village but stayed out of the opening and unwanted eyes. He kept to the bushes, trees, and dark alleyways to avoid any contact with any of the locals at any cause. No one must know he was roaming through. His mission was too great. It was a one-way trip and classified as a suicide mission. 

He had to reach the monastery soon. His mind was solely focus of getting there. This was a particularly important mission Richard have ever carried out. It was a mission that only he could carry out. A mission he personal assign to himself. No one knew about it. At least no one knew about it yet, and he needed to keep it that way if possible. He needed to act quickly. 

Currently about six blocks away from his destination, he quickly hid underneath one of the houses to check the time. It was 0315. He cursed heavily under his breath, knowing that he must step up the pace. Time was against him, with barely half an hour left to successfully complete the mission. 

Two nights ago, a report came to base about a rebel group terrorizing the government with the intention of overruling it and killing anyone foreigner they come across with. Within the report, they were heading towards the monastery that also worked as a hospital, and it had a few US citizens working as doctors and nurses. Immediately an extraction order was given to evacuate all personal and return safely to base so they may board a plane and return to the