A Foreword

Before I say anything, first things, first, This work is not

finished. Of course going from that first statement, your
question would be “why is this no-name 19 year old
presenting an unfinished novel?” Logistics of writing a
large scale novel aside, even in it’s unfinished state, this
work has changed me. Continuing to work on it has
changed me. And others alongside me have also influenced
this work to change as well, alongside me.

Jules has changed me.

Those who’ve read my first work before coming to this

would notice immediately, how I’ve grown and evolved
from my first novella, and now my first true novel.

So this is a demo, a little unorthodox for a novel to have a

demo, but bear with me. As hopefully this work will
hopefully at least convince you on the promise of
something much bigger, and you would find something, or
someone to love.

As my goals with this project, is to write a story that is

human in nature.

Thank you, for your patience.

–Hira
Stranger In A Dream
By Hira.

6
 To S. Spiegel.

I’m gonna carry that weight.

7
Act Zero — Winter

Prologue
“Well… I guess this is farewell, Pen.” After the brief tire
screeching stopped, a quiet rush of footsteps makes itself
audible in the distance.

“Wait, I—”

“Be well, alright?” I utter, as I grab my bag, with my

Makarov at the ready, and fully loaded, two spare
magazines in my jacket pocket, I open the door, ready for
all of you bastards.

I miss our short conversation already. Snowflakes

accompany the stars among the night sky, feeling as
fleeting yet linger as long as our conversations will be.

“You’re the—” I slam the door. One towering bulk of a

man stands before me now, in front of my Makarov’s
barrel, as I now stand in front of his Glock. Bald, cheap
grey suit over a white shirt, no tie. No bottom-feeder, but
no top brass either.

“Put your gun down, and come with me. The boss wants to
have a word with you.” He says, his voice barely raised
under his thick eastern-european accent.

1
“Why should I?”

“It’s that or you’re going to worry about more than a bullet

through your skull.”

“Fine. Nothing good will come out of this stand-off

anyway.”

I drop my Makarov. He lowers his Glock. His eyes begin

to follow the falling Russian sidearm, and the second it hits
the ground, a shot is fired.

He stammers to the ground, dropping his gun, bleeding

from his gut and right arm, as bullet holes from my jacket
formed from firing my pocketed spare Makarov. The hot
spent casing stings, but I don’t mind.

“You—little shit—”

I pick up the dropped firearm, shot a couple of more as I

begin to run. Run, and run, and run. More footsteps rush to
fill the cavity that the poor bastard left. Before I turn the
corner, and enter the fire exit, I peek out the door, indeed
more men have arrived and now running through the
corridor the door is facing.

A fire extinguisher is next to me. Thus, an improvised

smokescreen chokes the low-rent goons. Now coughing

2
and blinded, I made sure none of them were able to walk,
leaving multiple holes on their legs and feet.

After making my way to the bottom floor, hopping down

staircases, I spot the car they rode in here, a 2000s Audi
A4. The driver’s taking a smoke outside, his breathing
revealed by the cold unforgiving air.

My legs felt slowed by the snow, as my footsteps leave

marks behind the surface, which will soon fade, as the
season will change. But something told me this winter will
outlast many, even myself.

“Hey, you—”

“No.” I drew both of my Makarovs, pointing towards the

poor man’s skull before his fingers could even dream to
grasp anything, whether it be a firearm, knife, or cellphone.

“The boss won’t be be pleased about this.” his voice

shaking— clearly he’s the squad’s driver for a reason.

“No. No he won’t.” I tilt my head a little. Not sure why.

“Fuck, you took out Big Ivan too?” he asks, more of an

affirmation than a question.

“Yes. I did. Now, listen to me.”

3
He gulps his throat, his sweat glands struggling to function
as temperatures drop faster than even his confidence can
ever hope to achieve.

“You’re going to take me to the train station. Closest from

here.”

“Hah—why not a fucking airport while we’re at it?” He’s

trying to keep it together, my goodness.

“Not enough time. Now turn around.”

A gunshot behind, followed by a sudden burst of blood

erupts from the poor man’s head, loud ringing pain erupts
from my left shoulder, following another bullet which just
caught up with the first.

“Not so fast, Julie.”

I can’t believe it—fuck—he’s still standing. How did he

know my name? My left hand points the Makarov towards
him, shaking as my shoulder bleeds, as the other half of the
pair of Russian pistols drops to the floor.

“The next shot won’t miss, you little twink.”

“Neither will mine.”

4
“Even if I fall, I already called backup. Nowhere for you
left to run, little Julie.”

Seconds of silence pass by. The two of our barrels

interlocked, yet unable to fire. Keep this up, and both of us
is going to bleed out, or we freeze to death. The winds
howl, as if taking the place of our silence.

“Three. Two. One.”

For a moment… time had slowed down. His gun failed to

fire, instead the slide of the Glock ejects the whole
cartridge, without the firing pin touching the hammer.

“How the—”

One shot was fired, and my magazine is emptied. He drops

to the floor, dead. How? I gaze to where our apartments
are… and there he is. Pen. He’s out of his apartment,
somehow. Now I know how a Glock of all guns would fail
to fire.

I bid him farewell, with my two fingers and a nod. He

returns the gesture, with cold tears in his eyes.

The Audi thankfully was automatic. I drove to the station

with a wounded shoulder with no drama, the automatic
transmission and four-wheel-drive hauling my ass through

5
the snow, only leaving me with a whole lot of pain that I’m
already numb to before even stepping into the car. Not
even the Feds would dare to touch this part of town, which
is good, but it’d mean… they’re waiting for me. After
reloading my Makarov, and realizing I forgot the other one,
I look around for any spare weaponry. An AK, alright,
that’ll do. Checking the magazine, it’s still fully loaded.

“Jules, boy, come out of the car.”

“Alright. Alright.”

An empty magazine, dead no name thugs, and an act of

sheer luck later, I make it to the platform. Ready to board
the train. As the first car rushes past me, slowing down,
more rushed footsteps chase after me. As the train car
opens, I get in, and run as well as a man with a bullet hole
in his shoulder can, towards the front of the train, with
them following me. Warning shots were fired, but of
course, they don’t back off.

I managed to be two cars ahead, somehow.

My shoulder. I can feel myself succumbing to the wounds.

The night sky, the city, it never looked so colorful before,
even with a blizzard swallowing the town whole, the colors
and light shining inbetween the white.

6
All noise become one, my body surrendering to the cold,
as I fall to the floor, and—

7
Act One — Spring

Chapter 1A
I woke up to the sound of an old vinyl record player,
playing piano music, in a futon, in a… gym or dojo looking
building one day. I feel…

“Here, eat.”

A bowl of noodles lay in front of me, by an old man,

caucasian, beard, on the table in the middle of the large
space that is this living room. Ah… there they are. My
glasses are right next to the bowl, oddly clean and
untouched.

“Rest, kid. You’re wounded pretty bad. A gunshot to the

shoulder, on top of that many bruises should’ve killed you
by now.”

It smells… nice. I guess. I grab the chopsticks and eat. It is

indeed, nice.

“Your… baggage is right there. And a change of clothes

next to it, if you need it. Go take a bath.”

After that, his words become more and more of a burble,

drowned in white noise, as pain sets in more and more.

8
How he speaks becomes of someone with wisdom and age,
if I had ever met one. I don’t think I’ve ever met one who
had both, at least at the same time.

“What?”

“Mori. My name is Mori. Do you have anywhere to stay?”

“No.”

“I see, thought so. Feel free to stay as long as you want.”

He gets up from the cushion seat, then walks away.

After that, he completely disappears to the front. Smell of

cooking, and the sounds of people chatting manifest tens
of minutes later. Looking around, the screen doors,
wooden pillars on the wall, a small wooden shrine-like
box, with a picture of a woman, a grandfather pendulum
clock, and that record player. That damn vinyl player is
throwing me off. I would assume this is 1960s Japan
without it. An up-and-close look reveals that it’s wooden,
and doesn’t seem to be manufactured; instead handmade,
with two brass speakers on the sides. The disc, of
course— spins on the top, right to it, the play and pause
and stop buttons, made of wood, and the plating finished
in… steel.

9
I need to check my stuff. My Makarov isn’t in my jacket’s
holster.

Crap, the gun’s not in my bag, neither is my switchblade

knife. The two spare magazines and rounds are untouched,
but it’s not there. Did he take it? I guess if I had the Welrod,
I’d still be fine, but no. It’s completely busted. The frame
is completely bent, there’s no hope of opening it up, the
silencer barrel is covered with dried up blood. It’s as if
someone forgot or didn’t knew it was a gun and used it as
a… club. And my Game Boy… the Mother 3 cartridge is
still there… but like the club, it has bloodstains on it.

I need a smoke. Thank God, he didn’t take my cigarettes.

Sounds of conversations comes closer, as I reach the front

door, and open it. A big noodle stand is where the noise is
coming from, apparently, the old man cooped behind it and
cooking noodles, putting it all despite only having 2
customers.

“Where are you going? Get some rest!” I hear the old man
call out.

“I just need a smoke.”

10
“Well, go change your clothes first at least. We don’t want
someone looking like a murderer walking around, now do
we?” I look down again, and ah… right…

“Who was that, Mori?” One of the customers asks as I

close the door. A girl… perhaps.

“Oh, he’s… a new part timer.”

“Not much of a part timer if he’s slacking off like that.” A

different voice remarks. An Irish-like accent, belonging to
an older man.

“It’s… a work in progress.” He sighs… in the distance.

Going back in, I ignore the change of clothes he prepared,

in favor of my own; a black long-sleeved shirt, white
undershirt, khaki cargo pants, and a black leather belt. My
watch… right, my Casio watch. It’s pointing at 4:10.
Outside, it looks like noon, or at least morning. The clock
points at 11:00, so I adjust my wristwatch accordingly.

As I change my clothes, just then, I notice the gunshot

wound on my right shoulder, bandaged and healing. They
don’t sting at all, unlike the several bruises, which I don’t
remember being there at all. I was about to reach for my
phone, then remembering I threw it away.

11
Stepping out… lighting my cigarette… then it finally set
in. The three customers: an elder male, like the shop owner,
but bigger, with a warhammer by his side; a pastel green
haired girl, with a pine colored horn above her forehead,
wearing a white dress, and a sword with glaring eyes
floating around her. The buildings, made up of wood, and
stone. The paths unpaved, with horse carriages passing by.
Men and women in suits of armor and weapons only seen
in anime, few in between, however, stand and walk around
as if they fit in.

I’m in another world.

“Well, hi there!” The girl waves at me.

“...Hello…”

“What’s your name?” I notice she’s wearing a necklace.

“It’s Juli… Jules. My name is Jules.”

“Huh… where are you from, lad? Come on, sit with us.”

“I…”

“Go easy on him, Angus. He just got here.”

12
A large tree is visible from here. Larger than any that I
know to exist. I walked away from the two of them, and
Mori, trying to find somewhere where I can make sense of
things.

The sky’s much bluer here than back there. Ain’t it, Pen?

Crowds of people I pass by sneak glances towards me, and

after a couple more steps and looks, I reached somewhere
even more noisy. The stalls, the smell, merchandise and
sounds of haggling… I’ve reached the town… or city’s…
market.

“You look lost, friend? New in town?”

A bald melon vendor with glasses called out to me, it

seems. He looks… quite familiar. Not quite sure what it is.
He’s surrounded by quite the customers, yet he still greets
me.

“Yeah… uhhh…”

“It’s alright. Name’s Anthonious. Roots’ busiest melon

vendor.” He steals my hand to shake it. I… don’t think I
feel comfortable.

“Jules.”

13
“Fancy name, fancy outfit. Love the pockets. Where you
headed?” He asks.

“Uhhh… a park, I guess… Somewhere a little quieter.”

“Ah… I see.” He nods.

He points to a comprehensible direction, past the clock

tower, following the city’s small river. A small lake is also
waiting for me there. It’s… quite a walk. But you know
what… it’s alright.

“There. Still Park should be there. And you don’t look so

good, friend. Take it easy.”

“...I will.” I probably won’t for a while.

My pits were drenched in sweat by the time I reached the

park. The steel sign read “Still Park”, as mentioned. The
park seemed bigger than I initially thought, much bigger.
A large lake burrows itself in the center of it. After
entering, I immediately made myself comfortable on the
first bench I saw and just… be. Forgot my iPod, but well…
it’s fine. A statue of what seems to be a musician is visible
in the middle of the lake, on a pedestal keeping it above
water.

14
A couple of geese took off into the skies. I don’t think they
fly quite like that. And a pair or more rabbits hop around,
like kids playing tag.

Not many were there besides me, only a couple of children,

one is flying kites at… breakneck speeds? Another
walking on water and appearing to be showing off, twirling
around the statue, and one just napping under a tree, with
a book on his lap.

My Zippo lighter keeps burning through cigarettes, like it

did on… that night. As I’m down to my second to last stick,
the old man sat down next to me. Without saying a word.

“Hey, mind if I have one of those tobacco sticks?” The

minutes long silence ceases to be.

“Uhhh… alright. I guess.” I give him my last cigarette

from the pack, lighting his end with the Zippo.

“Huh, fancy match-lighter thing you got there.”

“Thanks.”

He coughs, spitting a little on the side of the bench, smoke

leaking from all over his mouth, trying to finish his
sentence.

15
“I don’t smoke, you know.” he said, coughing in between
letters.

“Sure.”By the time the sun had set, and the final cigarette
had burnt to the edge, neither of us had managed to melt
the ice.
Act One — ???

Chapter 1B
I find myself… here again. In front of my apartment. The
air seemed as if it’s motionless, the wind as still as my
breath. I look out to the sky, as I stand on the open balcony
corridor. Was it a dream? The old man, the lake, us sharing
a smoke—was all of it a dream?

Something within me said no. Perhaps… this instead, is the

dream. If this wasn’t, the apartment should’ve been in
ashes and bullet holes would be plenty. I light a cigarette,
the lighter flicker contrasts with the unsaturated colors of
the walls and sky.

My heart feels heavy.

The door to the apartment next to mine. Apartment 212,

while mine is 211. I remember. Is my stuff still with him?

“I’m not a he.” he shouts behind the door.

16
“What? So you’re a girl?”

“Just come in, man.” The door is opened, revealing a

quite… androgynous person. A little bit shorter than me.
Just as prepubescent as I think I remembered, sounding
more mature than he—they seem.

“How you’ve been?” they ask, after we get seated.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry that I left so sudden.”

“Not to worry, everything’s cool.” They say, accepting my

apology.

“Oh, actually, I’ve never got your name?”

“It’s Pen.” They answer.

A couple minutes of silence goes by, he retrieves soda cans

as we sit and just be. Drinking and crumpling the empty
cans before disintegrating them into dust. I never noticed
that their eyes are… what color is that?

“Aren’t you going to ask me how do you go back?” they

chuckle.

“Why would I?”

17
My heart begins to sink. Pen disappears. My heart begins
to sink a little more, burning like the cigarette I hold
inbetween my fingers, slowly turning into ash.

I belong nowhere, thus, I wish to disappear.

18
Act One — Spring

Chapter 2A
The couple of days after we shared a smoke, he never
asked for a cigarette again. A whole lot of nothing was
done on those days. Last night though, I had a glimpse of
something… but then lost it. I wonder why I'm… resting a
little easier.

“Well, feeling better, kid?” The old man asks.

“Not working today?”

“I open at 11 on weekends, in 10 minutes.”

“Ah.”

“I know you’re not a morning person, but maybe it’s time

to earn your keep.”

“Huh, sure.” Better than doing nothing, I guess.

“There’s something interesting to be found in washing

dishes, you know. A tranquillity of sorts.” Mori remarks,
as he takes me to the cooking quarters.

“Sure.”

19
“Oh hey, can you get the chairs?” He points to the stack of
stools behind the countertop.

“Alright.”

He opens the stall shutters after all the stools had been
placed, and the cutlery and pans, clean as can be, is set on
the stove. Huh, they don’t use gas, but have vinyl players
with nice enough sound quality, odd. He pours liquid on
the charcoal, and ignites it with a snap, making contact.

“Magic?”

“Oh no. At least not the arcane casting sort. Just a little
breathing energy.”

“I see. So you’re a monk?”

“Hm, something of the sort, yes. I ran away from the

monastery as a child though.” He puts his hand on his chin,
looking somewhere for the memory, maybe.

“Ah.”

“Also, can you bring the music player here?”

“Sure.”

20
“Also, no need to swap out the discs. Just bring it and put
it on the counter, right on that corner.”

With the stand now open, not long after the first customer
comes. The music had begun playing, and again, the piano
piece seems familiar. It slow-dances from left to right, with
beauty and a tinge of melancholy in the background. It
oddly contrasts with the somewhat Asian backdrop that is
the noodle stand. But I like it. He takes a large pot, filling
it with water, and boils it, a minute later, mixing in green
onions and other ingredients.

“This broth is more or less the base of all the noodles I

make, usually tailoring the taste depending on the
customer after cooking.” He explained.

“Alright.”

A customer rolls by. A quite tall, maybe even above

European above average height, black haired person.
Immediately after sitting down, he opens a small book, and
begins sketching.

“The usual?”

Not a word escapes his mouth, just a curt nod, as he

continues to sketch and sketch. Something strikes me as
odd about him. His eyes are an emerald-like green…

21
similar to the girl from a couple of days ago. The chef boils
the noodles, weaving them in the broth within the pot. As
the noodle is boiling, he takes mushrooms from the
container, slices them with quick and precise cuts beyond
what I’d expect from a chef, and throws them in. After a
couple of minutes, the old man sniffs the pot, and so do I,
then pours the broth onto a plain white bowl, mixing in soy
sauce and a little bit of salt and pepper before the noodle is
slid in. Ice tea is also poured and served on the side.
Through his movements, he’s an experienced chef alright,
but something is off about him.

“Here you go. Sweet broth with mushrooms.”

His nose twitches, as the aroma seems to stop him from

sketching entirely, directing his entire being to the noodles.
His hands, not very articulate if at all, forces the chopsticks
to hold the noodles, breaking the pair before taking
another, slurping it loudly in contrast to his previous quiet
demeanor.

“Heyo, how’d you enjoy your food?” The green-haired girl

from days ago stopped by. I notice her sword is sheathed,
this time. The male nods and smiles in response.

“Oh hello, Jules, is it?” She sits down, turning her attention
to me.

22
“Yes.”

“Lilith, forgive me for not introducing myself that day. A

week ago, I believe.” She reaches out her hand.

It felt like a minute had passed before I shook her hand.

“And also, this is my brother, Adam.” Her introduction

prompted him to gave me a look, before continuing with
his noodles.

“You’re new to Roots, aren’t you?”

“Is that what the city is called?”

“Yes. Roots. Capital of the Viridian Province. You seem

friendly, why not we show you around?”

“Friendly?” Mori coughs in the background. I look at him.

He looks at me. He shrugs.

“I don’t know.” I answer.

“You don’t know?”

I stay silent. Adam’s finished with his noodles, so I take

the bowl, and begin washing and cleaning it. He looked a
little stunned, but shrugged it off.

23
“Well… if you do know, I’ll come by again, alright?”

I gave her a silent look, returned with a smile.

“See you later then.” She waves goodbye. I nod a little.

Wondering what kind of smile anyone would give me, let
alone someone like her.

“She’s a nice girl. An adventurer. Her brother there, the

quiet one swings by a lot. You should’ve taken the offer,
boy.”

I stay silent.
Not many customers rolled by after, by the time we closed
up shop at 5. The day feels longer than I remember. As I
wash my dishes, oh that’s right, I just remembered
something. My Makarov.

“Uhm, Mori?”

“First time you called me by name, kid. What is it?” He

chuckles, peering out of his newspaper, which just occured
to me that it’s a thing here.

“Have you seen my Makarov?”

“A what?” he utters, confusedly.

24
“What was in my backpack. The black metal thing with the
wooden grip.”

“Which? Oh, the firearm…” He knows what firearms are?

“Yes.” He then chuckles, dryer than how I left the bowl I

washed clean.

“I broke it. I took it of course, because it seemed

dangerous, well you seemed dangerous.” Of course he did.

“Uhuh, then?” I don’t disagree.

“Curiosity got the best of me, old friend of mine, he

worked with firearms, but this is nothing like back in the
day. I tried disassembling it, and reassembling it, but then
I assume I broke a thingomabobber, because it wouldn’t
fire.” So indeed there are firearms in this world. Wait hold
on a minute…

“You tried to fire it indoors?” I almost dropped my plate.

“Of course not! I walked all the way to the city border, you
know!” he rebutts.

“Right, where is it now?”

25
So much for the wise old teacher trope. Or am I dealing
with a General Iroh type affair where it’s goofs and gaffs
and everything in between?

“Here. Finish the dishes first.”

“Alright.”

After wrapping up dishwashing duty, we both head inside.

Before dinner, he opens a wooden closet, appeared to be
built into the wall. A peek revealed it to maybe be larger
than it seems, but he pulls out the Makarov not too long.

“Here it is, not quite sure what’s wrong. Too complicated

for old me.”

I unlatch and pull apart the slide. There it is. The recoil
spring is missing, and… a couple of things are a little loose.
Mori fetched me a screwdriver, and the recoil spring that’s
mssing.

“There. You forgot the recoil spring, and the trigger

assembly is loose. It’s actually one of the more simpler
semi-automatics.”

“As expected of a professional.”

Oh, I see what he meant. Killing.

26
“Never mind, I’ll get started cooking dinner.” He shakes
his head, sighing a little while getting up.

How did he know? There’s a tinge of bitterness from how

he said it as well. But at the same time, how did I pick that
up? That… bitterness.

The routine smells and sounds of dinner radiate from the

front kitchen area. We dine in silence, except for the vinyl
player in the background, as if it’s a permanent part of the
house’s atmosphere. But there’s a heaviness to it now.

“Mori?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you take me in?”

“Well… you were hurt. I heard gunshots in the distance,

and ran towards the source, and found an odd large silver
carriage. You were unconscious next to two dead thugs. I
had to carry you back before you bled to death, or worse.”

“I see. But why?”

“Did you know… that the world ended once. Just because
someone had a bad day?”

27
Act One — ???

Chapter 2B
“The world ended once because someone had a bad day.”

“Do you think it’s true?” Pen asks to me.

“I don’t know. But something in how he said it… it hit me

in some kind of way. I do wonder though if it’s true.”

“Yes?” They move closer, with all of their attention onto

me.

“How can a single person decide the fate of the whole

world?”

Silence.

“That aside, how was your day?”

“Quiet. Still not used to how life is in that world. It’s so

strange, yet familiar. I guess I’m curious, but if I’m honest
I still feel apprehensive.”

“I see.”

28
“Yes. I guess it’d be nice if I had somene to show me
around… like—”

“Lilith?”

“Yes.” How did… ah right. Dream logic.

“Good. Go out and see the world. Where’s your sense of

wonder?”

“I know, I know. A lot of nerds would give up their lives

and precious collectibles to be where I am. A fantasy
world, with adventurers and all that. And hell… we even
have a candidate for best girl already.”

The two of us chuckle at the tropes and such, like we did

once before. Cans of soda and beer fly towards us, and into
the trash after we’re done drinking.

“First girl you see is best girl? What is this, a light novel
adaptation?” They add, as we continue to laugh.

“Christ, I hope not. I don’t plan on being hit literally by her

to find out.” I answer with a chuckle, as we continue the
bashing of cliched tropes in the shows we watched.

But the laughter slows down, fading into the silent walls.

29
“If I’m honest, Pen.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“It is. Just… do you still have that Nintendo cartridge I

gave you?”

“Yes.” They pull up said cartridge, “Earthbound” printed

on the side. The condition still being pristine.

“It belonged to the person I’ve killed that night. I don’t

think I can say any more than that.”

They nod. As if understanding the implications behind the

plastic-clad collection of data and stories. A cigarette is lit,
signalling the end of our conversation, as a puff of smoke.

I still wish to disappear.

30
Act One — Spring

Chapter 3A
“Get up, kid. We’re going shopping.”

It’s the first time I set foot outside of the noodle shop since
I woke up. It’s a little hot today. The clouds are looking
white and clear as sky. Inspecting my little leather
satchelbag, it seems I have everything I need. My
Makarov, one of the two spare magazines I brought with
me, my knife, and my iPod.

Yesterday’s dream… was vivid. That was clearly Pen.

“What day and month is it?”

“Sunday, March the 21st.” Ah, so they use the same

months for the calendar. And the temperature would mean
I’m in the northern hemisphere of the earth. If this was
earth.

“I see. The year?”

“1171 CF.”

“CF?”

31
“It stands for Capital Founded. When the first capital was
founded. Where are you actually from, son?”

“Not around here. It’s… a long story.”

“I see.”

As we walk towards wherever the marketplace is, I take

out my iPod and wired earphones, and shufflle through the
library of songs I have. Landed on Aruarian Dance, by
Nujabes, looped per usual as I’m in no mood for listening
to an album. Surprisingly the battery’s stil around 80%.

“Hey, what’s that?” Mori says after tapping my shoulder

before I could fall into a trance.

“Oh, it’s an iPod. A portable music player, from where I

come from.”

“May I have a listen?”

“Sure.”

He fumbles a little with the earbud, before inserting it. He

sways along to the rhythm, his right hand on his chin as he
seems to ponder the music.

32
“Wonderfully odd. Something about it is familiar. The
guitar strokes and such feels… odd. But nice. And
combined with the muted percussion, overall it’s really
nice. I might visit the record store after this, if you let me
borrow the device.”

“Hm.”

“Oh right, he’d ask me for the disc. Where is it? And
what’s it powered by?”

“It has no disc. The music itself is stored as data. And it’s
powered by a catridge that stores electricity?”

“Data? Electricity? Man… this sounds like a bunch of crap

Erudists go on about.”

“Then what’s your vinyl player powered by?”

“I hand crank ‘em every morning. 30 minutes is enough for

around a full day.” I see. It works similar to an analog
watch then, but instead it turns the turntable.

“And Erudist?”

“Scholars from Sunrise, where the capital city is. Some of

them that do field research are regulars at the shop.”

33
“Is Lilith one?”

“No, but I hear she does work for them here and there,
when it’s needed and risky. Although, perhaps, you should
show that device to her. She’d be interested.”

We wrap up our conversation as we arrive at the market.

Mori’s a much smoother talker than he seems, as he
haggles the prices of his groceries quite often. That or he’s
well acquainted with everyone.

“Fine, 2 gold.”

“Alright, thanks Sean.”

“Any time. Who’s the new kid, Mori?” Sean, the grocer
asks.

“He’s a new tenant and part-time employee.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you rent out rooms too. Been strapped
for cash? I can lend you some, you know.”

“I didn’t know either. And believe me, I’m not.” Mori

chuckles.

“So, what’s your name, kid?”

34
“Jules.”

“Oh, fancy name. Fancy glasses. Where’s he from?”

Mori gestures for me to answer his question. The same

question everyone else has asked ever since I got here.
“Where are you from?”

“Not around here. Why does it matter?” I answer. In the

most flat tone I can muster.

“Hey, calm down, man. I’m just trying to be polite.” He

stutters, somehow my word still seems to offend him.

“Why?” Just be honest instead of polite. If I don’t belong

here, say I don’t belong here.

“Hey kid, take it easy.” Mori pats my shoulder, as he raises

his voice.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Forgive him Sean, he’s still a little lost, and
not used to our customs.” He assures.

By the time we’re done marketplace. Walking by the park

I rested at, I see Lilith walking by, entering the park.

35
“You wanna go meet her?” Mori suggests.

“I guess.”

“Alright. I can’t come with, since I need to prepare noodles

for the whole week. It might do you some good. Just be
back by dinnertime, or not, it’s up to you. See ya.” And so,
he walks away with his groceries.

First things first, why do I need to see her? One, the train.
There’s still plenty of daytime, and I need someone to
accompany me, in case anything happens like last time.
Second, perhaps she could show me more of the city, and
the world maybe. The odd tree in the distance, abundance
of adventurers, and so on. I want to say the third is… never
mind that.

The park somehow remained as still as it was. Yet after

seeing her there, having a meal it seems, as if inertia itself
halted movements even more. She glances to me, as if I…
I don’t know.

“May I?”

“Of course.” she pats the empty space. Took longer for me
to sit than others would. Within that moment, it seemed my
earlier thoughts grew more incoherent.

36
“Want some? They’re rice balls. With mushrooms and
seaweed.” She passes what seemed like an onigiri.

“Sure.” I somehow mustered to accept. The harsh sun

made me hungry, it seems. A meal then shared, silently.

Her necklace, I didn’t get to take a close enough look, but

it’s empty. A diamond-shaped metal frame, yet an empty
space where a gem would be.

Right, the statue in the lake. “Who is he? Do you know?”

“Oh… he was once a dear friend of my master. Mercurius

The Colorful.”

“Your master? And Mercurius?” It’s as if the world is

moving so fast, I could even barely catch up. It’s almost
overwhelming.

“Yes, Mercurius was a famed artisan of poetry and music,

who lifts up those around him with his heart. He was part
of our adventuring party as well. Virtue.”

“Virtue?”

“You’re not familiar? We were the first of our kind. Saved

the land from countless tragedies. He was a part of it for

37
much longer, alongside Angus. The older gentlemen with
the hammer you saw when you woke up.” She elaborates.

“Oh him?” I affirm.

“Yes. And two others. Michael, our defacto leader, and

Lucero, our arcanist. You know…”

“A wizard?”

“Wizard, huh? Perhaps you could say that.” She glances at

me. “And then, much later after those four legends grew,
came us and our—my master. Adam’s as well. But that’s
a story for another time.”

Her voice quivered for a second.

“And then The Great Divide happened. Which you

know…”

“I don’t. I told you I’m not from around here.”

“Really?” Her look shifted. She paused.

“Not even the faintest clue?”

“No.”

38
“It was a tragedy. Millions of lives were lost, including
theirs.” Her voice raised. “Our capital was destroyed, and
the West End was completely cut off, with a colossal
canyon now in the way. The impact…” She pauses, as her
words grew louder. “How do you not know?!” The
sentence ends with a question so deafening yet with a voice
so quiet.

“I’m sorry. Like I said…”

“I’m sorry?” it stung. No. It bit.

“I’m not from around here.”

She took a deep breath, raising her hand a little, before

lowering it. I feel like I’ve—

“I apologize. It seemed you needed help.”

“I do.”

“So, what do you need help with?”

A second I spared to think. “I need your help to investigate

something. A silver train car. I believe it’s around east of
the—”

“A train car?”

39
“It’s how I arrived here.”

“From where? Neworth’s first train had yet to be even laid

on the tracks. The stations, in which so far there are four,
are barely finished being built.”

“I told you—”

“You’re not from around here.” That last syllable stung.

Harsher than any kind of malice they—the organization
could’ve mustered. I deserve this.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I need to go. I have

work to do for today.”

“Sorry to disturb your lunch.”

“I normally have a fee, but I’ll ignore that for now. Just
please tell me this.”

“Tell you—?”

“Who are you really, Jules.”

With that it seems, I’m now left alone. The day is still long,
and I’m left with nothing to do. I was hoping to ask her to

40
show me around, and the tree too, but now… it seems I’ve
ruined it.
With my iPod as my only friend, serenading Japanese indie
rock ballads directly to my ears, I spent hours, on the
bench, nothing but incoherence passing through my mind,
only to see evening calling me back… home.

Right, home.

Circle Game, by Galileo Galileo played as that word

occured. The guitars, the subtle tenderness of the chords
and each strum, the gentle words that I can’t fathom, yet
understand perfectly by heart, as if the air of animosity
from before cleared, left with only peace and melancholy.

And loneliness.

Before I knew it I had began to cry.

I have to go back—home. Nowhere.

The lanterns light up in unison, illuminating the evening

barely paved streets. Passing by the shops and little
residents, mixed in between, sheds warmth only to fuel and
overshadow loneliness. Railroad tracks cross the path I
walk, yet I continue.

41
I come to a halt on an unfinished building. My iPod turned
off, after a number of tracks that came after Circle Game,
which is a blur to me. Before I knew it turns out my steps
were parallel to the tracks, and it led me to this building.

A train station it seems to be, one of the ones mentioned

by Lilith. Large, yet humble. Adorned with little lights,
which are switched off, and a large sign with “Roots
Station” written in large letters, and “Safe locommuting!”
in smaller text below it, to the right of that lay a painting
of a small model train. I chuckle a little. Ribbons circle the
structure, indicating it not being opened yet.

In front of the building, Adam it seems, sitting on top of

piles of wooden planks. Deeply invested in his sketching.

He notices my presence. A simple waving gesture, then

back to his scribbling. Should I?

“I’m sorry for upsetting your sister.” I sat, next to him.

“Hm?”

“I talked with her earlier today at the park. Has she told
you?”

He shrugs. And tilts his head a little. Besides him are sheets
of blueprints. Judging by the scribbling, the unspoken

42
glimpses of what I saw in the notebook, is he the architect
here? I ask him. He asked to clarify what an architect is.
After explaining, he nods.

I then take another look at the result of his handiwork.

“It’s so… strange.”

“Hm?”

“The train station feels warm to look at. Unlike the

buildings where I’m from.”

He scribbles, then showing me the page. On it the words

“Where you’re from?” in tidy cursive handwriting,
betraying yet complementing his atmosphere, as a person.

“That’s right. Where I’m from. It’s a desolate and harsh

place—Where not a single care is spent on another. Even
outside the particular harsh corner I lived in, it’s only a
fraction better. So where I’m from—”

His eyes suddenly become wider. Attentive and all, while

scribbling even more, without a glance spared to the
notebook, all given to me instead.

“—should be no one’s concern.”

43
He nods. His eyes look sorrowful. A short pause came
before he hugs me. Unprompted. For a split second, I
hesitated, then I hug him back.

I don’t deserve this.

“You do…”

He let go, and walked away. Did he… talk? Even though a
whisper, did he talk? And did I… say that aloud?

I try to cling to the syllables, before walking home.

44
Act One — ???

Chapter 3B
There’s only me. In his apartment room. I can feel his
presence… but where is he?

I hear whispers beyond the door.

Where is he?

45
Act One — Spring

Chapter 4A
I think I’ll put my iPod away this time, just bringing my
Makarov, tucked in my beige jacket, now cleaned from all
the blood, my swiss army knife, the quality of the blade
good enough to kill, cigarettes and of course, a lighter. Oh
God, I’m down to my last cigarette.

“Hey Mori, I think I’ll leave this behind. You can take a
look, but don’t break it.”

“Got it. Oh almost forgot, here.” He hands me a small

cheap coin purse. With about… 10 gold coins.

“Thank you.”

“No need, just call it your part-time salary.” He chuckles.

Lilith sat behind the counter, apparently having breakfast.

Udon style thick noodles with eggs and grilled
mushrooms. Not going to lie, it looks appetizing. She eats
it with the same kind of grace as how she carries herself,
but it seems she’s holding something back. Oh right…

“Your breakfast is right there. Next to hers.”

46
So I sat myself beside her, the same meal essentially, and
eat. Maybe I’m finally waking up, after all this time,
because it’s eye wateringly good. The texture of the broth,
the salt and sweet, how it dances in the tongue, and with
just enough peppers and spice to wake me up, without
burning the tongue.

And the accompanying music, it complements the dining

experience perfectly, I’m starting to recognize more and
more. They’re definitely pieces, or variations of classical
and jazz pieces from back there, from Earth. Chopin?
Debussy? Erik Satie? Sadly my knowledge on classical
music or jazz is lacking plenty, not enough to identify the
specifics.

“I apologize for yesterday. You talked to my brother, yes?”

She acts, tonally flat and perhaps callous.

“Yes.”

“I don’t appreciate strangers approaching him, but I think

I’ll allow it. Seems he’s taken a liking to you. Told me to
give you this.” She hands me a notebook, with “To Jules”
written on a piece of sepia-ish tone paper stuck on the
cover. It’s an empty journal.

“Why?”

47
“He said you could use a journal.” She quotes.

“I’ll think on it.” I answer, after a brief pause. Perhaps

keeping track of my experiences here would do well, as
I’m still after all… a stranger.

“Alright, let’s take off. While you were asleep, Mori

informed me the directions. It’s on the road to the Great
Divide. Hidden in a collection of trees. Let me guess, you
don’t know.”

“Great Divide. The large canyon you mentioned. Where

the capital once was, is my educated guess.”

“Ah, so the stranger can learn. Let’s go. But first, I need to
make a stop to my blacksmith.” I noticed, her weapon is
nowhere near her person.

“Have fun out there!” Mori shouts, and we both wave back.

So we walk, arriving at the humble mostly maroon painted

shop. The glass window painted with the words “Stanley
Coalworth Jr’s Smithery” in a style reminiscent of oldie
16th-18th century commercial font. Inside, I feel the heat
from the forge already, but I don’t mind. It’s a little windy
today. The shop welcomes us with a bell ringing as we
open the door. Lines of weaponry, from swords, to axes, to

48
spears, and armor stands wearing from copper to steel that
gleam with good work ethic greet us.

“Heyo, it’s Miss Lily. How’s it going?” The black-haired

man working the blade greets her. His eyes concentrating
on the sparks generated by the edges meeting the
grindstone. He’s much younger than I expected. And Miss
Lily?

“I’m alright. Is Petra ready?”

“Sure is. Was just finishing up smoothing his edges. He

gleams bright as always.” He tosses the blade in the air, the
crossguards open along with its singular eye, levitating
around the green haired woman.

“Thank you, nice work—as always.” She says, as she

inspects Coalworth Jr’s work, caressing the same edges
that was worked on the stone with a kind touch.

“Who’s your new friend? Is he a new guild recruit?” he

asks.

“No, he’s just a stranger who needs help.” She states, as

plainly as possible.

“Does the stranger have a name?”

49
“Jules.”

“Alright Jules, Stanley Coalworth Jr. Best blacksmith this

side of Neworth, with the exception of my father. At your
service.” He extends his hand. With such an introduction,
I couldn’t help but shake it.

“Right, you seem a little lacking in armaments. Just a knife

won’t do in these parts.” The young blacksmith remarks.

“Not to worry, I have this.” I pull out my Makarov.

The whole room quiets down, tensing up like murder.

“Why do you have that?” Lilith breaks the silence. With a

figurative mallet.

“A gun, huh. Lilith, who’s this guy, really?”

“Put it away, please.” Lilith orders.

“Alright, sorry. My bad. This is just for emergencies.”

The two sighs a little relief as I holster it.

“We’ll have a talk later, Jules. Stan, just throw me the

cheapest piece of shit you have. I apologize for his
carelessness.”

50
“It’s fine, Miss. You came in early, so there’s no customers
beside you two today. I’m fine with guns, if anything I’d
like to take a look one.” He replies, I sigh a little relief.
“But the customers? Yeah, nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, Jules. I’m sure you’re a nice
enough fellow to keep that thing in check, just a little
careless, like she said. So here.”

He tosses me something. Unsheathing it reveals it to

indeed, be a sword. Double-edged, light, no lengthy
crossguards, in contrast to Petra’s very european bastard
sword design (and noticeably less sentient). Must be a
chinese Jian type of sword. I’ve seen one way back when,
but not this up close, and I think that one was longer. The
sharpness is superb for ‘the cheapest garbage you have’
quality.

“Would you like to name her?”

“Isn’t this too much?” I question. Lilith seems to concur

according to her gestures.

“Nonsense, this is only a step above a knife. Dad would

say your gait tells me a shorter lighter blade would suit
you.” He explains.

51
“Well you’re not wrong.” I remark back.

“I guess, but he’d still call me a baby for stating the

obvious.”

“Alright, so is that settled?” interjects Lilith.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, just return it when you’re by—”

“Nightfall.” she finishes the man’s sentence.

“Fair enough. By nightfall it is.”

After a “thank you for your business” from Stan, we walk

on ahead, towards the city border. The winds. Perhaps a
change will come forth for me.

“Show me your pistol.” Commands Lilith.

“Huh?”

“Just give it to me.”

So I do. Her eyes sweep across the Russian firearm with

perception. Reading the manufacturer markings, managing
to find the mag release catch, she unlatches, and checks the

52
ammunition, before inserting the magazine back in, and
racking the slide, chambering the round.

“You forgot to chamber the round.” She reprimands.

“I was about to, and you forgot the safety.”

“Safety?” She asks, seemingly caught off guard.

“Yes. Most of the firearms I come across has a safety

switch, even older models with the revolvers.” I try to
explain, as I flick the switch located on the back of the
slide, her gaze saying ‘oh so that’s what that switch is for.’

“I see. But still, the only kind of people that wields guns
here are thugs and other unsavory individuals, not to say
some fairer folk don’t wield them, but well...” I can feel
her interrogative glances on the back of my mind.
“Although this… this isn’t anything I’ve ever seen.
Granted, the absence of branding would mean you’re not
affiliated with such kinds of groups, but that still leaves me
with the same question as before.”

“Who are you, really?”

I don’t respond.

53
Hours later, and a lunch break in the way, now, we’re
standing in front of the train car. The faded iron exterior
contrasts with the viridian landscape and the cityscape we
departed from. The door is open, probably thanks to Mori.

“Shall we?” offers Lilith.

We step inside, and the air is musky, and damp. Two

bodies lie on the floor of the train. One white haired, red
eyes, the other plain black and brown eyed. They should
be a week old, but somehow the stench ceased long ago. A
closer inspection revealed gunshot wounds. Checking their
pulses would be moot, but Lilith does so anyway.

“Did you kill them?” she questions.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe? There are two gunshot

wounds, and these thugs aren’t carrying… oh, they are.
Well one of them” Her quick inspection revealed a crudely
made 4-shot pocket revolver, lying next to the body of the
black haired man.

“A clover-gun. But it hasn’t even been fired. The cylinder

is still fully loaded.” She answers. I concur. Clover-guns?
Oh as in the cylinder shape? “And a knife. Infused with
magical energy. This is bad.”

54
“How bad?”

She doesn’t respond. Instead looking around, inspecting

the train itself and its contents, or lack thereof. Her sword
is unsheathed after her calling their name,“Petra”, and
began to glow with an odd light, alongside her horn. She
closes her eyes, perhaps concentrating on a spell? A quiet
minute or two is spent before she opened her eyes again.

“This is odd. Even odder than before.”

“Hm?”

“The identification spell revealed this to date back further

than our own history, in contrast to it’s patina. Even before
I casted it, I knew the atmosphere is familiar.” Wait a
minute…

“What do you mean?” I ask, being absolutely confused.

“The train car looks quite similar with ancient photographs

that had been unearthed, and I’ve seen ruins of ancient
cities before. And your pistol as well. Firearms date back
quite far, beyond our time even.” She expounds, more and
more.

“Hold on… just let me get this straight.”

55
“And your outfit as well, and how you dress.” she
continues anyway.

“Just wait a moment!”

“What?”

“So I’m not in—well from your perspective, another

world. I’m—”

“From another era.” She concluded.

I find a seat among a thousand empty, and sit down for a

moment. Just, this is a lot to take in. Breathe, just breathe.
I hoped that this would answer the questions I had, sure
some were answered, but more of them pile on, taking their
place and more. Too many that I couldn’t even sort
through. The final cigarette is lit, slowly being converted
to smoke.

“The train manifested quite recently. So that answers that

question. Where you’re from.”

“I boarded this train on January the second. 2020 AD. And

then what. And then what, Lilith?”

56
“It seemed as if it’s in a state of stasis for a while, beyond
the material plane. Until 1171 years after the first capital
was founded. I don’t know how long that is, from 2020
AD, whatever those two letters stood for.”

“What happened to Earth, then.”

“Earth… that word. What the ancient ones used to call their
world. I’m afraid I couldn’t answer any of your questions,
Jules.” She seated herself, beside me.

“But I can offer you a path. A means to your end.”

“A path?”

“Join our guild. And become an adventurer.”

57
Act One — ???

Chapter 4B
“Sorry, someone was at the door. Was asking for
something, It’d be a long story it—hey, are you holding up
alright?”

My back is slumped into the chair. I stay silent, like I did

before, when I was alone.

“Hey, is it because I left to get the door?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” they ask.

“I don’t know how to say it directly. Is it ok if I use an

allegory? Or a metaphor. Or something.”

“Sure. Always.”

“There’s a cave. Where the tempted would wander in, but

some born in it, some just… who knows where they came
from. Isolating, dark, cold. Eventually, the only things they
knew of are… the monsters around them they call their
comrades, fire and rats for sustenance, and shadows cast
by a single window. A hole. They learned to hide from

58
those shadows, who would only appear at day, only to be
confronted with our own shadows cast by the fire. For
sustenance, if rats or insects didn’t show, we— they would
consume passerbies. Even each other.”

Pen nodded.

“Those born in it wonder what’s beyond the hole. Beyond

the cave itself. Those who wander in tell tales of their past.
Of love. Of peace. Of freedom. But of course, not a care
would be spent. I mean, why would you venture towards
the source of the shadows.

The light. ”

Pen stays silent. Paid attention to every word, nodding at

every single syllable.

“Imagine you were born within the cave. Along with the
wish to escape, to go beyond it. To go into the light. The
wish grew with every day that had pass, unknowingly. One
day, you wake up outside. Not only being suddenly greeted
by the sun, and the expansive blue sky, and wind, and new
landscape you’re foreign to.

Someone had found you. And asks you where you’re from.

And who you are.”

59
Their look. Their eyes. The pair… the color shifted. It feels
like I’m gazing… beyond the spectrum. And the beyond,
gazing back at me.

“And that someone offers you their hand. Despite your

own being covered in dirt, dust, and blood. What would
you do?”

A pause manifested. Of understanding? Of dissonance?

“So you’ve finally waken up. After all these days spent in
your cave.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I don’t know how to

describe how waking up feels. Even if I had, how would I
tell the difference?

“Tell you what. I know what it feels to live in a cave, sealed

from the outside. Except, I had no one else. I never knew
what outside was, only through peepholes and windows.

Until you came along, Jules.”

“Really?”

“But you left, before I had time to awaken.”

“I’m sorry—but I’m here, aren’t I?”

60
Silence. Again. Another question met with silence.

“And the cave. Where you would’ve come from. That

stranger and you walked back to the entrance. Only to find
it empty.”

Only to find it… empty. What then?

“I don’t know.”

61
Act Two — Spring

Chapter 5A
“Hey. Jules. Are you alright?”

Right, I’m—we’re still in the train. I’m back to my senses

again. I don’t like this. I’m out of cigarettes as well.

“Huh?”

“I offered you to join our guild. You sat there, smoking

while being unresponsive for a solid several minutes.” She
explains. I see… so that was a daydream.

“Oh… right. I’ll think about it.”

“What were you smoking? You seemed really out of it, like
you’re trapped in a hallucination.” She asked, concerned,
like the big sister she is, I think.

“Cigarettes. Nothing in it but tobacco, I think. I just, I had

a vision. It’s been recurring for a while know. “

“With whom?”

“The last person I talked to before leaving.”

62
“Are these memories? Flashbacks?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I see… perhaps I’ll look into it for you as well. This case
sounds familiar. But it’s out of my area of expertise. I could
tell your aura shifted once you were in that trance. For
now… I suggest we go home. I think I’ll give you time
alone to think on it.” She suggests, patting my back.

“Thank you. For all of this.”

“Of course. If you need anything, just don’t be afraid to

ask.” She offers, somewhat reassuringly.

“Alright.”

“Oh, and let me—can I see your journal?” She asks.

“Sure.”

It’s not like I have anything written yet. It should be fine.

She opens, writing something on the first page before
returning it.

“Emerald Bookstore—” written on the top of the page, the

rest detailing instructions on how to get there.

63
“This is our guild’s address,” She explains.

“A bookstore?”

“It does masquerade as a bookstore on the front, but it

connects to our guild headquarters, which is a library.” She
answers.

“I see. But why all the secrecy?”

“Well the building isn’t located here. It’s actually farther

west, in a town located in the other side of The Divide. The
bookstore’s backroom has a spatial shortcut door, that
leads to over there. We have shortcuts all over Neworth,
not just Roots. And well, we can’t have non-members just
stroll in.” Very convenient. As expected of magic.

“I see.”

“Wait.” The levitating blade begins to blink.

“Yes?”

“Petra, hostiles?” The sword nods, before flinging

themselves to the girl’s palm. Vibrations began to manifest
in the air alongside small flashes of yellow, red, and blue
light.

64
“Show yourselves. Before you breathe your last breath.”
She declares, her voice as bold as her stance, pointing the
blade at the door. Jesus…

She runs out of the door, the blade beating her to the
outside, only to find no one.

“They must’ve fled. Cowards.” She scoffs.

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know. Hadn’t investigated far yet to make any

certain guesses. I’ve only started adventuring again two or
three months ago. It’s been decades since I’ve been here.”
Her voice reverts back to being friendly—well more
friendly.

“Decades?”

“A long story, for another time. You’re already quite

overwhelmed, aren’t you?” Lilith, showing quite a bit of
concern.

“Yeah… fair enough.”

“Shall we head home?” She asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

65
So we do, with Petra’s vigilance guarding us till we reach
Roots, just at the tip of the afternoon. Home. Home. Has it
finally become home for me?

“I have to go back to the library and document this

discovery. Be on your guard, who knows who might be
following.” She advises.

“Alright.”

“I’ll see you soon, I hope?” She said, before parting ways.

“We’ll see.” I said, before parting ways.

I should return the sword. Under circumstances, back then,

I would dare to keep it until the danger is away, but this is
different. It’s been such a long day, and I’m out of smokes
as well, fuck.

The walk there was silent. Why did I leave the iPod behind.
As I approach the store, I see a couple of men walk out,
wearing leather armor, one armed with a longsword on his
back, the other a bowman, one seemingly very happy with
his purchase, a shiny brand new shield, the other
congratulating the man, I think.

“Hey, you’re back. Cmere!” Stan greets as I walk in the

door, the blacksmith rests on a bench, indoors in front of a

66
small coffee table. A man. With a bottle of what seems to
be beer, poured into a glass. He poured another for me,
with a smile.

“Here, have some. A toast to your survival.” He offers,

with a chuckle.

I humbly accept, and then we share a quiet drink. The beer

is… odd. For one it doesn’t taste like piss. The sweetness
is almost offputting, but I can tell this isn’t the artificial
sugar the—now old millenium had. I guess.

“So, how was your day?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a long day. You?”

“Two new happy customers. You’ve seen the fellas

outside, one with the broadsword and the other a bow?”

“Yeah?”

“Gregory, a caravan guard, he’s been saving up his gold

for a brand new shield for a while now from his work
moving crates and caravans. Bandits, you know. They’ve
been at it quite a lot, you’d need something to defend
yourself. His friend, the bowman, Veers, an adventurer and
regular at my shop, for arrows and knifes gave me as a
point of reference.” He explains, with a smile in his face.

67
“I see.”

“They’re getting crafty, with firearms and whatnot. A

highway robbery later, he’s convinced on getting a shield.
Veers on the other hand’s dealing with plenty worse. His
party’s caster went rogue. Killed half his party. Nasty
stuff.” He remarks. I couldn’t tell at all that happened to
the guy. Shows how much I know.

“Caster? As in magic?”

“Yeah. It’s what we folks call them. They’ve been around

since long, like Lilith, she’d be a hundred by now!” He
chuckles.

So that’s what she meant by decades. No wonder she was

upset when I didn’t know about the capital’s fall. She
probably was there to witness it.

“Casters’ve been cropping up more often lately. In all

manner of shapes and sizes.” He continues. “ Don’t ask me
though, not my area of expertise.” He adds.

“I see. I should watch out then.”

“You should. Say, that’s enough from me, how about

you?”

68
“Well… a lot happened. For one, I found out that I’m from
thousands of years in the past.”

“No kidding?!” he spits, choking on his drink.

“Yeah. Rode on a train, that either stayed in stasis for

thousands of years with me in a coma, or leapt straight to
here, who knows.”

“How’d that happen? And do you go back home then?” He

asks.

“I don’t know. I never had a home to come back to in the

first place.” I reach for a cigarette, but the box is empty.

“Then Lilith offered me to join her guild. Perhaps to find

answers. I don’t think I’m ready just yet though.” I
continue. And well… what would answers do for me? I
don’t know.

“I see. It’s a lot to take in, ain’t it?” He affirms.

“Yeah. And after that, we almost got jumped.”

“Jumped?”

“Someone snuck up on us. Fortunately Lilith was there to

ward him off. She’s damn scary with her sword of hers.”

69
“Hahah! Ain’t that the truth? If it weren’t for me and dad’s
smithin, Petra would’ve snapped like a twig.” He chuckly
remarks.

“You and your father forged the sword?”

“Reforged it. The sword was in awful shape when we took

it in again. It’s like what, hundreds of years old? Even older
than her I believe, belonged to her master. My dad’s one
of the greatest, if not THE greatest smith, and combine that
with Orrean Titanium, and you have one of the best swords
ever forged.” He proudly recounts, as he takes in more and
more alcohol, somehow staying sober.

“Damn.”

“Damn indeed.” He chuckles.

As he finishes recounting the past, it began to rain. Both of

us look on, and continue drinking. A smoke right about
now would be perfect. Hey actually…

“Say, offtopic, but, I have something to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“Where can I find tobacco? Like cigarettes or cigars.”

70
“Well... herb shops usually have them. For medicinal
purposes, but I know in your case it’s for something a little
different.” He throws me a look, which I just—yeah. He
then fills me in on the directions. “Careful though, it’s in a
particularly bad part of town. So I’ll urge you to keep that
sword of yours. Especially after what you mentioned. No
telling what’d happen.”

“Shouldn’t there be a city guard?”

“Eh, ask that to the capital. There are, but they suck. It’s
every person for themselves around those parts.” He
scoffs.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Can’t believe I asked

about cops. God, that’s just funny.

“No problem. Take that umbrella there and make sure to

stay safe out there. Make sure you’re not followed.” He
advises, pointing at a vase full of umbrellas.

“I’ll try. See you.” I say, as I grab one and head out.

Evening as well is rolling in. I should keep my guard up.

The magazine’s still full, and Stan’s shortsword still
gleams, unscathed. The wind howls, more and more as I
walk closer to my destination. This isn’t good. The
raindrops, wind, and darkness, masking anything, or

71
anyone that would approach me. The street lanterns dim,
as I reach the street corner where the shop was, my field of
view reduced to a little beyond a couple of footsteps.

Entering the lit shop, an older man behind the counter, also
smoking, the exchange was almost wordless. Not a name
was learned or shared. The cigar, it’s much bitter than I’m
used to. Much stronger. Only with a huff I felt dizzy, as if
my grey matter merged with the smoke.

The silence is unbearable.

Right about now, I’d take my iPod out and just… melt into
it. Whatever it is depending on the song. Radiohead comes
to mind, right about now. “How To Disappear
Completely,” or something like that.

But do I want to? Do I need to? A realization that’s

downing on me is well… the harsh silence would go away.

When I’m with them.

“You there?”

Without a second wasted, my Makarov is drawn towards

the person behind me. The shop owner paying no heed, it
seems.

72
“Clever. Masking your footsteps in the rain.”

“Rain or not I would’ve still gotten you.” The blonde pale-

ish man retorts. My gaze meets his wakizashi shortsword,
glowing with a similar hue to the knife from earlier.

“Of course you would. Lilith’s back home after all. Wait
until the weaker one is all alone, then strike. Very clever.”

He doesn’t respond to the taunt. Not even a twitch. He's a

professional. No qualms of pride, or such.

He’s dressed with what you’d expect a thief to wear, dark

leather-ish jacket, loose enough for movement, under that
a vest a collared white shirt, with a bandana, matching his
eye color, deep purple. But with an odd radiance to it. Akin
to Lilith’s, but something’s different.

“Quick hand you got there. And nice gun. What’s your
name?” He asks, the complement lacking weight, almost a
sarcastic remark. Well almost.

“Jules.”

“Scallon. Of Tobaccotown.” He introduces.

“Tobaccotown?”

73
“Yep. Alongside a fellow member, and an associate of ours
you’ve murdered. Never heard of us?” He mouths,
surprisingly calmly.

A fellow member? So the other’s an associate of sorts? A

hired goon, perhaps? The member would be the one with
the knife, the one with the crudely made clover revolver is
the hired thug.

“No, I’m new in town. As you might’ve heard from

eavesdropping.”

“Smart and perceptive. So, ‘Jules’, my superiors sent me,

they just want a word with you.” God this is all sounding a
little too familiar.

Maybe a week ago I’d surrender, but not today.

Something’s different. I can’t tell what that something is…
but it’s there.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“I don’t know, Jules or whatever your name is. What do

you think? Look, it’s been a long day, how about you just
come with us before things get really bad?” He implores.
His fatigue is showing. He seemed professional, but he
might be softer than expected.

74
Might.

“It’s been a long day for everyone. ”

After a second look, I can probably take him. By industry

standards, he’s much younger than I am. Something about
him lacks focus. A couple swift shots to the leg, and a
lucky one to the hand, and I can perhaps make it home.

“Start shooting and you’ll wake neighbors up, and you

never know how cranky they can get.” And fuck, he’s got
me there. How much backup does he have?

I’m not proficient enough with the shortsword to go one on

one with him. Again, the gun would simply alert too many
folks. Fine, I’ll bargain then. With what little social skills
I have.

“Look, I’m tired, you’re tired, how about we meet up some

other time?” I somehow manage to say, without stuttering.

“You’re joking.” He coughs.

“I’m not, look, I’ll make my case right here. It was self
defense, like what you overheard, I essentially just arrived
here. Woke up to two thugs trying to rob me. And I didn’t
even remember shooting them. Doesn’t that sound a little

75
bit unfair to you?” I persuade further, betting on said thief’s
moral compass.

“Hmph. Why should I believe you?” He interrogates. As

he spoke, his free left hand made visible odd gestures. A
spell? After the action, the air felt different. Wait…

“Why should I believe your bluff? You’re here alone,

aren’t you? No way more than one would come just for
small time crooks, no?” I cock the hammer of the already
chambered Makarov, being met with him subtly taken
aback.

“Small time?”

“I killed them alone, didn’t I? Was bleeding to death too.”

Silence.

“Look. You’ve overheard our entire conversation. Does

any of it sound like a lie? What do you have to gain in any
of this?”

He paused. Moments of silence pass as both our weapon’s

business end interlock.

76
“No. Perhaps not a lie. I’ve made the calculations.” He
sheaths his weapon. And maybe dispelled whatever he was
planning.

“Fine. I’ll overlook this. You’re lucky those two were only
ground soldiers, and I’m fond of neither of them. Besides,
I’m exhausted.” He concedes.

“So we have a deal?” Wait… this worked?!

“I can’t promise you that I or another member of our group

won’t approach you again. But I’ll leave you alone. For
now. But on one condition.” And there it is.

“Condition?”

As I didn’t notice I let my guard down, before I knew what

happened, my Makarov flung itself towards him as flashes
of… what seemed to be translucent magical hands
manifest, knocking the pistol away from my hands, only to
dissipate the second he caught the weapon.

“You cheeky—”

“Nu-uh.” He points the gun to me.

77
“I’ll be taking this. Let’s call it payment for your freedom.
Next time we see each other, it might not be on such
friendly terms.”

“Wait—”

But alas… he walks out the door. I follow him only to find
only lessening raindrops and dim lanterns.

“Hey.” A familiar voice calls.

“Mori?” I turned around to find him, leaning back against

a wall beside the entrance, looking all relaxed.

“You’re late. Dinner’s getting cold.” He reprimands, like a

dad would.

“I’m not your son.”

“I know, but it’s not good for a young man like you to be
out in the rain like this.” He lectures. “Especially with
strangers.”

“I’m used to rain and strangers.”

“So I figured. So, wanna head home and tell me all about
your day?” He asks, as plain as he could.

78
“I guess so.”

I take a second look around. Only to find the bodies of

unconscious thugs surrounding the area. Seems he wasn’t
bluffing after all. And not a single scratch on the old man
at all. Why did he let Scallon go though? He took my
Makarov.

“Tell me, how do you plan on surviving as an adventurer?

Talking your way out won’t always be there as an option.
Not to mention, now you’re practically unarmed.” He asks.
As firm as again… a father would, with a little chuckle.

“How do you know I’m going to be an adventurer?”

“I can tell from the look in your eyes. You’re not the same
hopeless person who I picked up from the train anymore.
Who only killed out of an instinct to just survive. Guess
there’s one question left to ask.

Have you found it, son?” he asks.

“Found what?”

“A reason to fight.” A reason to fight...

“No. I guess not. Far from it. As a matter of fact, today had
only revealed that I have no clear reason to be here. After

79
all… my world had ended. Back there I should’ve let
myself go and disappear. But well… yet here I am.”

He nods. And pats me on the shoulder, the look in his eyes

is something of relief… and pride?

“Finally, a long and proper answer,” He chuckles. “Let’s

go home. I’m sure you have a lot to tell, and a lot to think
about too. Tomorrow, I want you to take it easy and rest.”

“Well, I guess, but why?”

“The day after tomorrow... your training will begin.”

TO BE CONTINUED
(This book is only the demo of the real thing,
coming soon to a bookstore near you!”)

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