Time Will Tell

Two thousand years ago, a comet passed the earth and brought magic and chaos with it. A thousand years ago, seven sages brought peace to the land with a single vow, blessed by the stars: to never again use their power to harm humanity. They vanished, leaving behind enchanted relics, legendary myths, and exiled ogres.

The world is peaceful, now. The comet is arriving again, but the nations are united and prepared. Perrenia Empire has anticipated the comet's arrival for centuries, after all. Time mages have all the information they need.

"Noise," Oliver Trieu mused, reviewing the holographic streams of information spread about the air. "Information is power, but most of it is useless noise." He looked over his shoulder toward his beloved spy, frowning. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I understand," Alan Alvaro said with a slight bow of his head. He knew that Oliver liked it when he showed that he was listening. "It's not unlike music."

"Yes," the prodigal son of the Board Of Knowledge said with an approving nod, eyes scanning the bits of data flowing through the air. "Like music, predictive information has dischordant notes." He traced his finger through the holograph, plucking out bits of data that glowed and trembled under his fingertips. "This one says 'flower.' This one says 'spirit.' This one says 'mountain,' and 'arrow,' and 'hunt.' But do you know what this one says?" Aggravated, Oliver poked at a pulsing data bit of light that grew with intensity the more he pushed it away.

"No, sir, I don't."

Oliver sharply turned around, the holograph disappearing along with his curiosity. His face was sullen and without humor. "Information you do not need to know," he said with austere undertones.

"What action would you like me to take?" Alan asked, hearing the unsaid order behind those tones.

With heavy steps, Oliver handed him a plain white envelope. Alan took it, eyes down.

"Instructions to remove the noise are as follows," he ordered. "You must banish James Hawke before the comet's arrival."

That morning, it had started to rain. It was early when his sister, Larrel, dropped by unannounced with a knock at his door. She was jumpier than usual, and something was on her mind. He saw it in her eyes as he let her in, worried that something had happened to her or their family.

At first, she said nothing. Nothing of trouble, nothing of pain, no misfortunes or trauma to dig up again: she just sat with him, and they had coffee before sunrise, watching the storm shift from gentle winds to heavy droplets, ushering in the spring. All the while, he watched her, knowing that she only found him like this in lieu of news or a burden.

It was thirty minutes before he had to leave for work when she finally broached it.

"I'm going to quit my job," she announced, making him freeze.

Halfway through pouring a second cup of coffee, he jerked his hand, spilling on the counter. He bit down and grabbed a towel to clean it up, knowing he had heard her right but was stuck in confusion.

"Quit?" he asked, pressing the towel over the puddle. "Why?"

The backlash she'd recieve would be immeasurable. Not to mention the pressure they'd put on her to stay. Leaving wasn't as easy as saying you quit.

"Don't you wish you could do something different?" Larrel asked.

"Sure," James said, wiping the sides of the cabinet down to the drips of coffee on the floor. "But it's not up to me--"

"That's not true," she said sharply. "That's what they tell you, but that's not true. You always have a choice."

With a sigh, James stood back up and wrung the towel out over the sink.

"If you quit," he said. "They won't make it easy for you."

"I'd rather do something that's hard than let them control my life like you do," Larrel snapped -- and her words cut deep. Her tone was colder than he'd ever heard it. "I don't want to end up like dad."

James slowly set the towel on the edge of the sink and gripped the edge of the counter, unable to reply.

Never in their life had she ever swung so low. He didn't think she would, with all their history, and the trust they'd worked so hard to build. Pinching his eyes shut, he looked over his shoulder, but couldn't look at her, with her words like a knife in his side.

"You think I want to end up like him?" he whispered.

The pause before her answer hurt more than what came next.

"You already have," she said. "It's only a matter of time."

James brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. It would've been one thing if she'd asked to talk about it - quitting, the benefits, the consequences, and what it'd look like to move forward. But he heard it in her voice that she'd already made her decision, so there was no discussion to be had. What he couldn't understand was the way this felt like retaliation, unwarranted, for a wound he hadn't caused. Neither of them had liked the circumstances of their father's death, the ways it was preventable, and how it'd been framed by the board. What was a tragedy for their family had been a heroic story for the empire, but none of that was within their control. Laws were set in place as boundaries, keeping them in the lanes assigned to them, and James was only taking the path of least resistance, because he didn't know another way. What was so wrong with living a peaceful life and giving his excellence to what was put in front of him?

Larrel had never raised these complaints like this before. She'd encouraged him to try new things, but this was different.

Even though he looked like his father, he didn't plan to die like him.

"Larrel," James said quietly. "If you want to quit, you have my support. I'll do whatever I can to make it as easy for you as possible."

Larrel stood up from the table, and the chair scraped the floor loudly behind her.

"I knew you'd say that," she murmured. And it was with bitter disappointment, like she'd hoped for something else instead.

"I just don't understand why you're doing this," James tried, turning to face her with his hands outstretched. "Please, help me understand."

Standing in his doorway, Larrel looked him up and down - both of them mirrors of each other in their formal wear and ruddy hair - and she shook her head.

"I don't think you ever will," she said, and her eyes were tinged with sadness. "You're too soft, and you've always been."

That was their last exchange before she parted, and it pushed him against the clock. James had to hurry to work that morning to make it in on time, and he'd missed the train. If he'd left his apartment to reach the helipads, he might've been able to catch them first and avoid the train entirely - but at the station, it was ten minutes both ways.

Wait ten minutes for the train, or run ten minutes to the helipad.

James waited for the train and ran from the station to his office building, knowing he was at risk of looking less put together than usual. With the rain coming down, his umbrella kept him dry for all but his feet, and his shoes took on water like a sponge.

If he'd walked, he might've spared his socks their fate with less splashing. Unfortunately, he'd made a choice, and he walked into the ten-story building with sopping shoes that squelched with each step.

It was hard to pretend he didn't notice when everyone around him did. Their judgmental stares latched onto him passively, and though no one said a word, he could feel the gossip filling the air.

James Hawke, the boss's favorite, showed up to work like a wet dog today. Wouldn't it be nice if he finally got in trouble for something?

He bee-lined for his office, taking the elevator to the fifth floor. Things were quieter in the halls, and he was able to hide behind his office door, exposed by the glass-windowed view over the city, but not to his coworkers. When he sat at his desk, the holographic screen lit up automatically, triggered by facial recognition.

"Good morning, James Hawke," the monotoned AI, Aide, greeted him as he adjusted his socks in his shoes. "You have twenty new messages."

James sighed and leaned back in his seat, swiping the air to view them when the ring on his index finger hummed. It was his work comm, which meant it was a call from someone in the office.

"Pick up," he said, and the caller's voice came through on the other side.

"Sergeant Hawke," General Richard Blackfield said, his face lighting up on a hologram in front of him. His gaunt features always looked paler in the hologram's light.

"Good morning, General Blackfield," James greeted.

"I'd like to see you in my office," Blackfield said placidly.

Which was one way of saying it was a conversation important enough to have in person. Something in James's gut told him that the office gossip was about to be proven true: this was either about him or his sister, and either was not going to go well if his intuition was right.

"I'll be there shortly," James said, and Blackfield's face disappeared, and the ring on his finger hummed once more.

The call was over, and James got to his feet, trying not to overthink the possibilities of what he was about to walk into. It was hard when that's what he did every day: strategize and plan ahead, as part of the department of protection and prevention. Anticipation was all he knew, and trying to shut it off was like trying to stop breathing.

He could only hold it back for so long.

He stepped into Blackfield's office with a bow of his head. The Lieutenant's space was always clean and sterile - more like a hospital than a work area - and James's damp shoes met the tile flooring with volume.

The three-foot walk to the chair across from Blackfield's desk was enough humiliation to last James a lifetime.

He sat down, and Blackfield spun around in his chair, flipping through fields of text on the holographic screen that came from his watch. Then, he dismissed them and looked up, flashing a bright smile.

Blackfield's smile never met his eyes.

"I was just thinking," Blackfield said. "That it's about time this kid got a promotion!"

He pointed to James with both hands, and James stared back in surprise.

"A promotion?" he asked.

"You're well overdue for one, Sergeant," Blackfield went on. "I think we all know how good you are at your job, but what I always say about work is that when you hit a plateau, it's time to grow."

James stuttered, but tamed his tongue enough to find a question.

"What's the job?" he asked.

"Right now, we need your brilliant mind put to work on our biggest project yet," he said. "You know how effective the rail system has been here in the city; well, we want to expand it. Not just within the empire. We're looking to go international!"

The slow blink James offered in return was all he was allowed to say.

"We're looking at building travel hubs all across the world. Imagine that! Connecting society in a way we never have before!"

Which sounded great, in theory, but James found himself wondering why he was being recruited for a task outside of his expertise. His family had links to the Board of Infrastructure, but he'd never worked there himself. Why ask him to help build a railroad?

"This is... a great opportunity," he began, trying to process the implications.

"And you have to understand," Blackfield went on. "Since the rather unfortunate dismissal of your sister from our circle, we're looking to you to help pick up the slack. Of course, no one could ever replace her! But you would bring a special fresh perspective needed as we look at building across the lands in between. There are, after all, many risks in pushing outside of the empire's bubble, aren't there? And who knows those better than you!"

A picture began to form in James's mind, and it wasn't a pretty one.

"You're... sending me out to do field work again?" he asked slowly.

"Pah!" Blackfield waved his hand. "It's not field work, Lieutenant. You're going to be preparing the way for the biggest development since drones! With a railroad like this, imagine how much safer international travel will be, and how much faster! We're on the cusp of one of the biggest breakthroughs in our generation!"

And Blackfield wanted James out there on the front lines, pushing back the dangers so that a train could come through.

This was field work, wrapped in a pretty package, but it meant coming face to face with every monster that lived outside of the empire's reach. Years ago, he'd done his time and risked his life over and over, taking the same path as his father, and his father's father, and every generation before his.

He just never thought he'd be asked to do it again.

"I don't know what to say," he said, realizing refusal was as good as quitting.

Which would make him just like his sister, and add two black sheep to the family in one day. He didn't want to explain that to his parents and his brother, Petrus.

"I have a copter ready to take you to the terminal. They're already surveying our current stations to see how we can work to expand them and increase their capacity."

James swallowed. Right. Blackfield wasn't offering a promotion, was he? He was telling James what was happening. Larrel's words began to ring in his head as he got to his feet and shook Blackfield's hand.

You always have a choice.

But she made it sound so easy. James saw himself signing his life away again, and it was happening right before his eyes.

It was easy to send people out when you stayed behind a desk. It was why he hated desk work, but devoted himself to coming up with strategies that would work to protect the people they sent out. He didn't want another death like his father's to happen again. He didn't want there to be another Allen Hawke.

Everything happened quickly.

He was taken to the roof, he was brought to the quadcopter. It took flight, and he looked down at the city with a gnawing fear, wondering if his last chance to back out had already passed in the office, or weeks ago, years ago, when it would've been simpler to call it quits early. The consequences only grew the further he went, and the longer he stayed with the Board. Pushing against the grain now would be like turning his back on all of his ancestors, on all of his family, and the whole empire.

The quadcopter landed quietly at the terminal, and James was ushered into a meeting. There, his mother and stepfather were already mapping out structures with Petrus, and Larrel's absence was noted. James felt removed from the conversation as they talked through logistics, and it felt like an eternity passed before they called lunch, and his mother pulled him aside.

"James," she said, leading him into the hallway outside the drawing room. "Did Larrel talk to you today?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing behind them as others in the meeting flowed out, and chatter echoed down. "She told me she quit this morning."

Jane pressed her lips together as she nodded, and cast a look down the way out of worry, like she didn't want anyone to overhear.

"You shouldn't be here, dear," his mother said, resting her hand on his upper arm. "It's not right."

Hesitating, James glanced at the cameras on the ceiling, monitoring the terminal.

"It's only temporary, Mom," he said softly.

"I know," she said sadly, dropping her eyes to the floor. "That's what your father said, too."

It was another jab into the wound left behind by Larrel, and James felt helpless to offer her comfort. He squeezed her shoulder and tried to assure her.

"I'll be fine," he said. "It's different, this time, okay?"

But he didn't know if he believed it, and she didn't meet his eyes. He let out a small sigh before he pulled her close, giving her a tight hug.

"I love you," he told her gently. "I'll be as careful as can be."

Which was the last thing he could remember telling his mother, before the rest of the day had passed like a blur, and meetings ran together like droning tones, and speeding trains barreled through his mind.

The day had been long and tiring, and all he wanted to do by the end of it was find Larrel to see if she was okay. What happened instead was an encounter he hadn't anticipated.

While stepping off the terminal platform, after his parents and Petrus had gone away, and he was the last to leave, his eyes caught on the tall silhouette of his ex-girlfriend marching up the steps, straight for him.

Freezing and completely unprepared, James looked around for anyone else nearby who could act as a buffer for the storm about to hit him. It was just his luck that he was alone, and all ways of escape would result in a humiliatingly comedic dash in any direction, up or down too many stairs, undoubtedly to cause a scene.

He lifted his palms placatingly before she even reached him.

"You're going back in the field?" Ingrid asked, stopping two steps below him, putting them at eye level.

It was nice of her that she didn't use her height to loom over him.

Yet.

"News travels fast," he murmured. "Who told you?"

"Our whole building's like a leaky faucet," she said, confirming to James that she kept in touch with their former aquaintences to keep track of gossip related to him.

Not something he wanted to know, by the way. But it didn't surprise him. They worked in the same building.

"And you came all this way to find me?" he asked. "Why, to tell me not to go?"

He thought she liked when he was promoted. That had been part of why they'd broken up in the first place. It had been, what, two years now?

"As if you'd listen to me in the first place," she spat. "No."

But she said it with a pout, which told him he'd hit the nail on the head. Ingrid glanced to the side and steeled her features into cold indifference, but her body language was transparent: she held her hands behind her back, hiding her anxiety.

"I need you here," she said. "I know things have been tense between us--"

"We're not together anymore, Ingrid," James said flatly.

"I just think, if you took a safer job, we could make it work--"

"There is no we," James cut in.

"I don't want to lose you, James," she went on, more desperate.

James inhaled sharply and rubbed his forehead as he sighed.

"I don't want to do this for the hundredth time," he said quietly, turning around to walk across the terminal platform. He'd go the long way around.

"Please, just listen to what I have to say for a moment--" Ingrid followed behind him.

"Ingrid, I still respect you and I think it'd be better if you left now for both our sakes," he said, walking faster. "Spare your dignity."

Ingrid stopped behind him, letting out a scoff as he sped ahead.

"You want to die that badly, do you?" she called out. "Well, fine! Go get eaten by an ogre! I don't care!"

James pinched his eyes shut but kept walking, ignoring the sting for the third time that day in the same wound. Now, Ingrid was rubbing salt into it, and she didn't even know. He walked off the other side of the terminal, down the steps, and into the street with his head down and his hands at his sides, thankful that Ingrid wasn't behind him but dreading the future to come.

He needed to call Larrel, and he needed to pack his things. He knew that's what it was all leading up to, but halfway through his walk home, it started to rain again.

This time, he was left without his umbrella.

Yeah. It was just his luck that he left it in his office.

It came down heavy on his way back to his apartment, and by the time he made it to the front steps, he was so sopping wet, he didn't want to go inside. He'd bring oceans with him in his shoes, and he didn't feel like getting stares from his neighbors, for whoever happened to catch him in the halls or the stairwells, trailing water with him everywhere.

His long hair stuck to the back of his neck, and he whipped the formerly neat ponytail over his shoulder, so he didn't feel it melding to his shoulder.

Pointedly, James sat on the stoop of the building, huddled under the canopy by the door, letting his clothes drip onto the steps as he "dried."

With his head leaned back against the pillar, he watched the rain continue to pour, making rivers in the gutters, spilling down the hill.

Just when he thought he was alone enough to crumple forward and sigh, a shadow fell over him.

He lifted his head. The wooden handle of a black umbrella was offered to him.

"Umbrella?" a familiar voice said. Eyes drifting up, James recognized the tall man to be Alan Alvaro. He smiled down at him, dark hair dripping into his glasses despite holding an umbrella of his own. "You look like you've had a bad day."

James shook his head.

"It won't make much difference, now," he said.

"Just take the damn umbrella," Alan insisted with a laugh, poking him with it.

James couldn't muster a laugh, but he tried to smile as he took the umbrella with gratitude.

"Why do you have two on you, anyway?" James asked.

A heavy sigh fell from his friend's lips. He looked up at the sky with hopeless longing. "It was for a date, but I got stood up." Alan brushed off the melancholy and offered a playful smile. "So anyways, want to go on a platonic and equally miserable walk with me?"

"So long as you don't mind being seen with a wet dog," James said, getting to his feet and opening the umbrella.

It had been a long time since he'd spoken with Alan one-on-one. They'd grown up together in school, but they never spent time together alone. He knew him more from work, and mutual friends who connected them.

Still, he was a nice guy. James had a moment to spare. It wasn't like brooding would've done him any good.

"If you were to go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?" Alan asked after a bout of marching silence against the incessant pattering of the rain.

James fell into step beside Alan and glanced up at the sky.

"I don't know," he answered wistfully. "Somewhere warm. Dry."

"Mm. And less miserable, hopefully?"

"It'd be a bit dramatic to say I'm miserable," James said. "Though I've certainly had better days."

"I say be dramatic," Alan said with unexpected fervor, meeting his eyes for just a second. "If not for the weather, then at least to commiserate with me. This city is far too sterile and utopian to encourage two gloomy men to express distaste for the status quo."

James looked at Alan with a wry grin, knowing Alan's penchant for theatrics ran deep into their childhood.

"Is getting stood up anti-status quo?" he joked lightly.

Alan scoffed. "It's not just getting stood up. Dating in today's age is impossible. Nothing is authentic. No one wants to connect anymore. Nothing feels real, and it's designed that way, just like everything else in our lives. You of all people should know that there is strategy and prediction in everything."

Sighing, James stuck a hand in his pocket, embracing the discomfort of wet clothes.

"There's not much to predict when it's all planned for you," he said quietly.

"Free will is a myth," Alan sighed. "And that is how I will justify that I got stood up."

"I'm sorry for that, by the way," James sincerely offered. "The disappointment."

"It's quite alright. I embrace it." For a dramatic touch, he swung his arm to embrace the air, his hand sticking out past the umbrella, collecting the rain. "The disappointment, I mean. It reminds me that there is more to life than the curated perfection that we see every day." He smiled again, pulling back his arm. "Even if disappointing, at least I know that it is real."

James smiled sadly, but it was hard to share in Alan's optimistic perspective when his day had been anything but perfect. It wasn't just a string of disappointments, either. It was like his family was crumbling around him, all in one day.

"That's a nice way of looking at it," he said, looking down at the puddles they passed through.

"And that is a sad way of saying that was nice," Alan replied with a curious glint in his eye. "What are you actually thinking? Unfiltered."

James sighed and looked back at the road, watching another couple across the street, huddled under one umbrella.

"I'm worried about my sister," he said quietly. "I don't think I can help her this time."

"What happened? Is she alright?"

"She quit her job," James said. "And... I don't think she has a plan beyond that."

Alan hummed, spinning his umbrella in place. "That sounds quite lovely, actually. Almost like a fantasy. To let go and have no plan at all, unconstrained."

"Sure," James answered. "But the appeal of free-falling ends when you hit the ground, or you run into someone else."

"And?" Alan prompted. "What will happen when she lands on her feet? What will happen if Larrel ignores people trying to control her?"

James entertained the thought for a moment, picturing the possibilities like raindrops, running into one another as they filtered down the drains. The paths were limited, but there wasn't an assurance of failure like his heart wanted to fear. Larrel could be fine, in the right string of events, but he wasn't sure if he'd be.

In the city, the biggest risk you ran was losing social credit, but outside of the city's walls, it was a different story.

No one in the empire feared a violent death until they were thrust out of it.

"I guess she'd be happy," James said softly. "Which I'd want for her."

"Then let her be happy," Alan said. "You love her a lot - of course you do - but endlessly worrying won't make her happy. I know it's easier said than done, though."

James nodded, but didn't voice his agreement.

He was worried for Larrel, but everyone else was worried about him. That's what it kept coming back to. That was the pool inside his gut.

"We're here." Alan pointed up the steps of an apartment building. "Or at least, I'm here. Unless you want to come inside?"

"I should let you go," James said. "But thanks for the umbrella. And the walk."

"Of course. Keep the umbrella, but can you promise me something before you go?"

The problem was that James couldn't remember what he had promised, what Alan had asked of him, or what had happened after: it was like a smear had run through his memory, and all he could recall were sensations and feelings. Anxiety, worry, and panic -- merged into urgency, determination, and fervor. Everything else that led up to this point became mud. Every time he came to this end, he hit it again.

Trudging, trudging, trudging, with nothing to show for it. He was supposed to know what happened because that's all he lived for: he took in the facts, he strategized, he evaluated, he came up with action plans, and he mastered them. Memory recall should've come easily, but now it felt impossible, and the more he tried, the more his headache grew until it blew, like a bomb went off in his head and shrapnel hit every wall in his skull.

Nearly blinded, the migraine split his head in two as he sat in the desolate expanse, unfamiliar, far from home, and surrounded by sapes who'd collected in hunger.

Not for him, but the food in his bag, which he didn't even remember packing, that he now held in his lap to keep the maggot-infested zombified husks from stealing it in mindless seeking.

Their incessant swiping was the only thing keeping James from going completely mad inside his head, but their animalistic screeches were driving him mad in a different way.

He flicked his wrist again, throwing a rock into one's face, pushing it away.

Stupid sapes. How did he end up this far from the city? The crashed copter behind him offered no answers, and when he'd stumbled out of it, the entire system shut down in a fritz. He got nothing out of the records because they were unrecoverable. The power had died, and there was no way to fly it back to where it came from or trace the coordinates of its first destination.

All James knew was that he was far, far away from home.

The air was different. It was cool, and it was humid. The trees were of a different species entirely, and even the earth was a different hue. The soil in the ground was dark and mixed with sediment, littered with sape droppings and tracks through every bush and bramble.

It was disgusting. This place reeked of death. He never would've picked this place throwing a dart at a map, and yet there he was, surrounded by mindless, inhuman monsters that couldn't even speak.

That was, until they all finally shut up.

Their screeches stopped, and their mouths snapped shut as all of their heads eerily swiveled in unison, locking onto something beyond the tree line that James couldn't see.

It made James stand up, snapping him from his down spiral -- because if he knew anything about sapes -- and he knew everything about sapes -- this was their signing call.

They'd just found food.

And the food they sought was in the flesh of mundanes.

That meant somebody was out there.

The sapes dashed into the trees on all fours, and James broke into a sprint right behind them. Their small forms weren't fast enough to break ahead of him when he cut through, and he surpassed them when he broke through the trees, delving into the forest.

Branches snagged his sleeves and his pants, but he rushed ahead anyway, shielding his face from the worst of it.

It was then that he passed a creature he'd never seen before in his life.

A fluffy, beige, four-legged mammal with a long neck and bug eyes.

Its head didn't move, but its eyes followed James as he sped by. Its back was saddled with baggage, but the sapes passed it by.

That meant the sapes weren't hungry for mammals. There really was a human nearby.

Whipping around, he raised his hands and skidded to a stop, forcefully pulling the earth from the ground to shape a wall, curving it over the sapes before they reached him.

It trapped a few, but others wriggled out.

He moved faster, launching earthen projectiles out from under his feet, taking them out one by one. He ran backwards to keep up with them, trying to keep them from advancing any further.

His back hit the trunk of a tree as he threw another rock into a sape's skull, shattering it.

The plink of a string sounded above him, and he looked up.

Perched in the tree was a man dressed in all black who drew an arrow in a bow.

But James knew the man's face. It was the last face he saw before all of this.

"Alan?" he sputtered, bewildered.

The man wearing Alan's face faltered, his arrow previously pointed at the sape now sputtering away from the mark, piercing the soil. He stared at James with open shock, unmoving.

Two more sapes leaped over the wall James had made, and James shook his head, turning away.

He drew two stones from the ground, and they zipped through the air with precision.

There.

Right between the eyes.

The last two sapes fell to the ground in heaps, and James turned away from the carnage to stare back up into the tree.

"What are you doing here?" James asked, his voice thick with confusion.

Still shell-shocked, the Alan lookalike did not lower his bow, but pointed it away from him. "What did you--" he began in Mundy, but then shook his head and started again to speak Perrenial. "What did you call me?"

James blinked slowly.

That was not Alan's voice.

That was not Alan's tone.

And most of all, Alan did not have an accent. And he did not speak Mundy.

The man jumped off the tree, landing on his feet. Now that the man was at eye level, James saw that apart from his face, his build was entirely different from the Alan James knew. Where Alan was thin and lithe, this man was lean and muscular, dressed in dark leathers and synthetics. Up close, everything about the man was a stranger but his eyes, and James felt his former confusion take a different shape.

James took a step back.

"I'm... sorry," he said. "You look like someone I know."

"What did you call me?" the man pressed, voice more urgent.

James leaned away, not sure what he'd stepped into.

"Alan...?" he said. "Alan Alvaro?"

Dumbfounded, the man stared at him some more before finally peeling his stare away. He slung his bow behind his back, eyes averted. "You know him?" It was a casual question, but even through the thick accent, James recognized the glimmer of anxiety.

"Yes," James said, quieter, as he scanned the forest around them.

It was clear of other sapes. For now.

"He's a friend," James expounded. "How do you know him?"

The man uncomfortably shifted his eyes to James and back before retreating from their secure spot, following the trail back to the fuzzy creature. "Brother," was all he answered with his back turned to him as he walked away.

James's eyes widened with bafflement.

Alan had a brother? A brother who was mundane? It occurred to James that, outside of romantic drama, Alan had never talked about his personal life. Especially not his family.

Suddenly, Alan felt like just as much of a stranger as his brother. James followed behind him.

"Oh," James said, delayed. "He never told me."

A beat.

"I'm sorry," James said again, shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes and looked up to see the bug-eyed beast, reunited with its owner.

"What's your name?" James asked, stopping when the man did, but wary of the creature.

"Alistair," he answered, scooping the creature's ears to scratch, then clicking his tongue and beckoning for it to follow him. He only barely glanced back at James. "And... you?"

James hurried to keep up with him, coming to his side and matching his pace.

"I'm James," he said, offering his hand.

Unfortunately, in doing so, he realized how scraped up and bloody his arm had become from running through trees and the sape's earlier nagging. Alistair didn't even take it, anyway.

"Are you lost?" he asked instead.

James dropped his hand.

"Well... yes," he admitted, because that was the only suitable way to put it. "I landed just up there, but I can't remember how I got here."

He pointed ahead through the trees, past the dead sapes now littering the forest.

"Yeah. I saw the copter. Why are you all the way out here?"

James let out a mirthless laugh, and the trees began to thin out.

"I've been asking myself that question for the past five hours," James said emptily as they stopped at the edge of the crash site.

There, half-embedded in the ground, the copter's dead engine still plumed with smoke. It rose into the clear sky in tendrils, and the copter's half-intact body was cracked like a broken tortoise shell.

His bag was right where he left it, at the base of the copter, untouched.

Alistair stopped, stared at the crash site, and then shifted his look over to James with an unsaid question: What the hell happened? Even the creature turned to stare at James with confusion, loudly chewing with aimless eyes.

"I don't know what happened," James said. "But I'm missing a significant portion of my memory. I don't even know how much time was lost. The last thing I can remember was talking to your brother on a rainy street. Everything after that is gone."

Alistair averted his eyes again. He gave the creature one affirming pat, then wordlessly approached the crash site.

"I already tried running diagnostics," James said, following behind. "The system's dead, and nothing is recoverable. If any directives were given, they're gone."

Alistair kneeled down at the middle of the split body, away from the plume of smoke. The circuitry board was cracked and damaged, partially littered in pieces among the grass and also partially in flames, but he took a surviving portion of it anyway and kept it in his bag.

James shouldered his pack, watching Alistair scavenge the copter, like a buzzard in its ribs.

With a sigh, he looked back up at the sky, thinking back to the clouds that hung over his home last he saw it, and how clear the skies were now.

He was on another continent, wasn't he?

"Where am I?" James asked quietly.

"Two miles east of Shieldwall," Alistair answered, still scavenging.

Shieldwall. That was in the Zoroska Mountains, and the home of mundanes. Everyone who lived there was without magic, and Shieldwall was a long, long way from home.

Impossibly far. There was no way to get out of Shieldwall. It was isolated from other human civilizations, with only two exceptions. Twice a year, the departments of preservation and life sciences sent out mages to Shieldwall to offer aid and manage relations. They treated Shieldwall like an experiment more than a city, but it was still a home for people, even if it was different.

James had gone out of his way to learn about the culture and the language, but he'd had to get permission.

Maybe the mages who came to Shieldwall would recognize him when they came?

"Do you need to get to Shieldwall?" Alistair asked. James blinked and snapped back into focus, realizing that Alistair was back by the creature, waiting for him now.

Feeling more helpless than he liked, James looked at the carnage around him.

"I... don't really know where else to go," he said. "But I... don't want to burden you."

He glanced down at the rings on his left hand. Neither of his comms worked to send messages out. But that's when he'd tried before he realized how far he was outside of country lines, well out of their limited range.

"Does Shieldwall have a comms terminal?" he asked, wondering if Alistair's scavenging of technology spoke to a greater awareness of it.

Maybe mundanes weren't as archaic as the mages told him.

"There's one," Alistair answered, then hesitated. "I can take you there."

"Thank you," James said with a weak smile of relief. "That would help me immensely."

Alistair said nothing else. He clicked his tongue for the creature to follow again, and it seemed to be a beck and call for James to follow too.

Marching onward, James felt his migraine waning, but just a tad. He matched Alistair's steps.

"So..." he said, looking at Alistair's companion. "What kind of animal is that?"