Right Hand of the Pirate Queen

26. THE MOST POWERFUL BEING IN THE UNIVERSE

Milo scooted around the massive bulk of the round dummy, Tiny, and moved closer to the inside of the platform. He stood hunched over, gripping his chest as his heart punched against his ribcage. The back of his legs still burned with the heat of the bed of lava churning beneath them. Lucianna ran and leaned over him, putting a hand on his shoulders. Fists clenched, she wheeled toward Riosae, who floated on a chair made of stone, sipping on a refreshing iced drink.

"Isn't that going too far?! Milo could've died!"

Riosae scratched her chin.

"Yes, and?"

"How can you call yourself a teacher if you put your students in danger?"

"Simple. While you may never be suspended over a river of lava in your travels, you will certainly face obstacles that will make your normal strategy of...running in guns blazing...completely useless and foolhardy." She set her drink down on the arm of her chair and leaned forward. "I realize you inherited that massive power, that magic that makes whatever you wish come true. The Hands of God, I believe? That's what your grandmother called it back in the day. But without your gems of power, you can't just have whatever you want. Think. Plan. Act accordingly. You can't lash out every time something doesn't go your way."

Lucianna huffed. "Are you done?"

"I am. For now. You may continue with your challenge. Unless you'd like to skip to cleaning my collection room?"

Lucianna flipped her the bird and turned back toward Milo. He had straightened up, his breathing returning to normal. His heart still pounded, but he could think clearly now. He wiped sweat from his brow and looked at Lucianna. Her eyes downcast, she had dropped the air of confidence she normally held.

"Are you okay?" she said without looking at him.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry if I worried you."

"Why are you apologizing? I should apologize to you."

"It's...fine. I'm fine."

"Are you though? I...don't know if I believe you."

Milo opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. How could he respond? Lucianna's shoulders drooped, and she hugged herself. Her eyes squeezed shut. Milo didn't remember any time a girl had worried about him. Most of them had treated him indifferently, like a trip to the bank. Purely transactional. The more aggressive girlfriends had yelled and called him names. Usually right around the time he would break up with them, because despite craving the company only a girlfriend could provide, he never built up the strength or courage to allow them into his apartment, let alone do anything beyond going on dates.

To see Lucianna so broken up over his wellbeing, a gross, slimy sensation built in his stomach and chest, as if all his insides were turning to liquid. Part of him desired to reach out and comfort her, but he couldn't bear it.

(Hey, can you hear me, Luci? Are you okay?)

But he heard nothing.

(Is our bond on such shaky ground? Does she...just see me as useless?)

Lucianna continued to stand there, her shoulders shuddering.

He gulped, trying to swallow down that sickly feeling in his chest, and turned toward the small mannequin Lucianna had been trying to lift. He had hoped to be useful, but what was he supposed to do? He was a damsel in distress, always relying on others to help him out of situations.

(Dammit!)
He cocked his foot back gave the little mannequin a small kick.

And the mannequin toppled over, as if it were light as a feather.