Enjoying the hour before dawn was the only serenity Alan could muster these days. His Green Saro permanently depleted, no matter how hard he tried to revive it. Mentorship from Durger and Afarus proved ineffective, and what was worse, blessed Yellow faded alongside it. Darkness was overwhelming all of his light, seeping into his veins like a snake’s venom. The only promise keeping it at bay was hope for what was to come.

  Hutten Fie. A powerful ally.

  As he nocked an arrow with his new bow—Windthistle—he envisioned victory against Jaeger. Though he worried the element of surprise had been lost since he depleted an entire platoon of Sar’fidius’ army.

  Fshew!

  The flaming arrow flew far over the mountain to the Saro targets he set up on the smaller points hundreds of feet away. Missing the mark, a part of him wished he’d practiced more with his father whenever he’d go hunting. It wasn’t Alan’s jam back then. Killing living things was against his moral compass, even if he did turn a blind eye on the steaks served on his plate. Now? He saw the worth in archery, and in hunting. War sent all of his instincts into survival. Protection. Anything to keep his realm safe.

  Fshew!

  Pwomf!

  Alan grinned when his next arrow hit the target. The mark would’ve been impossible back on Earth, but here? Saro had a way of guiding projectiles. Black being the forceful push needed to go the extra distance, and Orange, the fiery blow that added damage. A lethal combination.

  “Never knew you could shoot, Alan.”

  He jumped slightly, which caused Trish to chuckle.

  “Good to see Nastaf’s teachings have some worth.” She shadow-shifted to Alan’s other side, a little too close for comfort over his shoulder.

  He took a step away to create some space.

  She frowned at the motion. “Even with the little one treating you miserably, you treat me as if I’ve got the plague.”

  “Trish… this is my hour of peace. Something I’ve lost since you arrived.”

  Her eyes darkened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Alan nocked another arrow. “We had our time. Now I’m happy to be friends, or your protector, but nothing more.”

  Fshew.

  Pwomf!

  The target rippled with Orange Saro when the arrow landed.

  “I’m not giving up on you, Alan. Fate brought us together again, against all the odds.”

  Alan shook his head. “It’s no longer enough.”

  Fshew!

  “Dammit,” he hissed.

  “You have some of the finest Archers I’ve ever seen sleeping in those lodges,” she said. “Why not have them teach you?”

  “I’m Colorless, Trish. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Alan loosened the pull of his bowstring and let it fall to his side in frustration. “It’s like I told you in the Tower of Quest. I used our memories for a lot in this universe—”

  She took a step forward. “Then you owe me.”

  Alan scoffed. “When I found you… all of the goodness of those memories simply faded away.”

  Her lightheartedness melted in an instant. Arms folded, frown deepening.

  “And Irana… She flew right into my arms, Trish.” Alan looked at his palms. “What would’ve been a routine heal…” He swallowed past a lump. “Now she’s gone, because…”

  “My god.” She took a step back, hugging herself—Black Saro making her nearly ethereal. “You blame me.”

  Judging her reaction, Alan realized he’d made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t her fault for existing. It was his for staking so much of his past on her.

  “Trish—” Alan took a step forward—she pulled back.

  “Why did you remove your mask at the tower?” She winced, shaking her head. “If this is how you view us—as some distant memory not meant to be revisited—why did you intervene?”

  Alan didn’t have a good answer for that. It was pure emotion that made him act. He couldn’t let her die by the hand of that samurai-looking Bladesman. He had to intervene… because they knew each other from worlds apart.

  “I—” Alan was at a loss.

  “I would’ve survived, you know.” She clawed her fingers near her abdomen, showcasing ethereal Black Saro that turned her flesh to momentary mist.

  Alan smirked at that knowingly. It took immense energy and what would’ve been an eternity in battle to make that happen.

  “What?” She released the Saro and exhaled audibly.

  “I was always impressed with that overconfidence, even if it did make you kind of an ass.” Alan found lightheartedness again.

  “Better than being a damn sloth.”

  “Working double after double is not sloth-like.”

  “I mean up here!” Trish pointed to her head. “Back on Earth, you had all the tools to climb. Case-in-freaking-point, look at you now.” She presented him. “A realm of your own, people who look up to you.” She scoffed.

  Alan would be lying if the recognition didn’t drum up old yearnings. “No sense in dwelling on the past now.”

  “No? Seems like the past is what got you here,” she countered. “And a few adjustments could’ve kept us together, hand-in-hand through the universe.” Her hands slapped her sides. “Now I’m just your outdoor cat that sleeps outside your house, with gaping holes in my memory of how I got here.” She choked back tears.

  “Trish.” Alan went to comfort her, but she threw up her hands.

  “I’m not here for pity.” She sniffed and wiped her tears. “I’ll go find my way down there, in that budding town you’re building.”

  Alan pushed his lips to the side. A part of him wanted to invite her to stay, but years of dreadful memories acted as a much-needed defense mechanism.

  “The irony,” she said. “Bashing you over the head about how useless the shop was. Now you’re building a whole damn alliance under its name.”

  “Has a double meaning this time.” Alan held up a finger.

  “Hm?”

  “Guds. Gods? Unlikely Gods,” Alan kept explaining as Trish shut her eyes in seeming anger.

  “Awful,” she tried not to laugh.

  “Which means you love it.” Alan’s smile split his face.

  She shook her head.

  “Listen.” Alan folded his arms. “If you have any gear from your earliest days here, maybe I can find out how you got it—jumpstart some of those lost memories.”

  She shrugged. “I woke up in a tattered cloth in a pitch-black cellar, Alan. Everything I wear now I earned in the tower, or by training in the covenant. You’re clairvoyant, right?”

  “Among other things,” Alan said.

  “Mm. What have you seen about me?” she asked bashfully.

  Heat rushed up to Alan’s face, but he cooled it with a quick batch of White Saro, knowing Trish would read him in a second if he hadn’t.

  “It doesn’t really work that way,” he said, thinking back to the frogs’ vision. Her voice was planted in their somewhere, but nothing discernable. And Afarus—the most powerful clairvoyant of all—said he saw nothing but clouds in Alan’s future.

  “I see. Well, I’ll be on my way.” She about-faced and stared down the mountain. The way she lingered made Alan think she wanted him to call for her to stay, but he couldn’t. Seeing her stand there with her back to him brought back memories of her rolling her suitcase out of his apartment. The long flowing hair, confident stature.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  She looked over her shoulder. “You know, Alan. When I walked out that day, I always wanted you to chase after me.” She smirked before leaping off the mountain.

  His heart did a somersault.

  She’s messing with me, right?

  I mean, I based so much hate on that moment. There’s no way…

  He replayed the moment a thousand times in his head. It couldn’t be true. There was so much finality and build up to it.

  “So much for peace,” he scoffed, refocusing on his targets.

  xxx

  Ara dropped Alan down the mountain pathway leading to the first town he’d built in Token. Molding medieval-style shops came easier now that he had a population to tend to. The prompts flowed fluidly in his head as he directed the system to construct, construct, construct.

  A white-clay building with crisscross wooden windows and a blue roof had a loose sign hanging over it. The etched potion meant “essence shop,” and he had his first Merchant approach him to rent it. It was a good thing he’d spent three whole nights developing a currency system with the help of the universe prompts. Using his past knowledge on Earth and Sharas-da commerce style, he created a coin that could be earned through various war-time protocols. Patrolling, scouting, defending, participating in the Unlikely Guds army. He even created a backpay system for those who partook in the war-protocol six flank against Foretta.

  A thousand questions were likely incoming, and potentially some jealous infighting about who got to rent what, but he’d take it in stride, and maybe use Itsy as his hardnose enforcer to snuff out quarrels if need be.

  Gazing at the shop to the right—similar style as the essence shop, only with a red roof and a hanging hot fish plate sign—Alan instantly grew hungry. To think the Strangey Town imports were already turning into recipes of something other than consumable essence.

  A Bladesman cook who took down fifteen of Sar’fidius’ soldiers single-handedly bid highest to rent this property. Alan had to go inside and see what had become of it.

  He opened the door to chatter from six full tables of dirt-ridden citizens chowing down on fileted fish dishes. His stomach turned, thinking it might’ve been one of the Strangey Town fish-men, but he hoped Mujungo wouldn’t be so cruel.

  “Alan!” A stout Knight held up his glass, shouting with a mouthful.

  “To Alan!” the others joined in.

  “Morning!” Alan clapped back. “Good to see everyone get a jumpstart so early.”

  “Ah. We’re the graveyard shift. Someone’s gotta keep watch for portals on the fringes. You know they’d come deep in the night if they did, yeah?” another Knight spoke up. “Junos had us doing the same drills. Worked well, ’til you showed up. Heh.”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  Alan nodded his appreciation, then noticed one hand wasn’t going up. A woman in the corner with a finely spun blue robe slightly too big kept herself small as she ate. When she turned her head to side-eye Alan, he knew immediately by the pink nose who it was.

  Once the cheer died down, he walked up to her and just stood there, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

  “Do you mind?” she said.

  “Not a morning person, huh?” Alan tried to keep it light.

  “Not a person who confides in a cold-blooded killer,” she hissed, causing Alan’s heart to sink.

  She pushed her food away. “Apologies, that might’ve been a step too far. Maybe I really do dislike mornings.”

  They both shared a small smirk.

  “Can we go for a walk, please?” Alan asked.

  “Hm. I’m eating.”

  “When you’re done then?” he went on.

  “Mph.”

  “Today is my last free day for a while, Neesha. And who knows how things will go out there—”

  She pushed her chair back and nodded for him to follow.

  “Alan.” The shop owner pushed past a curtain behind the counter, cleaning a dish.

  “Crato. Good to see you again.” Alan waved on his way out.

  “Can I get you a dish? On the house.” Crato poked his head.

  “Another time, friend. Have to run.” He waved again, doing his best to follow Neesha while not disrespecting his new tenant. “Ahk.” He nearly bumped into Neesha when she stopped short, arms folded as she stared Alan hard in the eyes.

  “You ruined my meal, Merchant. So you better start talking.”

  Alan scratched the back of his head, dismissing all the new prompts flooding his mind, and started down the pathway of shops.

  “I’m sorry for losing myself on the battlefield,” he admitted. “And I’m not a killer. I don’t want to be, anyway. It’s the war…”

  She pinched him. “After all I’ve shared with you, Alan. After everything we’ve been through. Do you know what it was like to see you dripping with Black and Red Saro like in those frog visions, a flash away from cutting my sister’s throat? I know she’s the enemy. I know what war does to people… but you were supposed to be better.”

  Alan dipped his head as they perused the street, hands in his pockets.

  “And Trish. Did you bring her to haunt me?” Neesha’s eyes grew glassy.

  Alan bit his lip and looked away.

  “Ugh. There are days I want to wrap my hands around your neck and whack you over the head with the war stone for real. You do know what happened after Greg escorted me to the orange fog, don’t you, clairvoyant?”

  “Honestly, it would’ve hurt too much to dive in,” Alan said, knowing at any moment he could fall into a trance and find a vision through her Answer Stone if he wanted.

  “Look.” She spread her arms, then reached into her robes to reveal the slab. “Go ahead. Do it.”

  Alan put his hands up innocently. “I won’t.”

  “Coward.”

  “C’mon,” Alan pleaded for her to calm down.

  “No. You fell back out of my good graces. I gave everything up to be by your side. And this is how you repay me? I do not trust you, Alan. You are evil at your core—I’ve seen it. You have no heart for nuance. You see red and you stab. In Cerrain, we have a saying for people like you—flood the throne with the blood a king takes.”

  “Alright, Neesha. That’ll be enough for now.” Alan turned down an alleyway between two buildings before his rapidly unspindling emotions led him to saying something he’d regret. “Sorry again for disrupting your meal.”

  “You going to find my mother out there too?” she called, unhinged. “Stick a blade in her back?”

  Her voice shrunk as he continued on. It was a shame he had to depart like this. He was hoping to reconcile and perhaps take the next step forward before he left—to companionship. On any other day he probably wouldn’t have given up. But Trish’s visit this morning had struck a chord he’d never expected her to. Maybe…

  Kaw!

  Alan looked to the sky.

  “Right on time,” he told himself, watching a formation of gryphons soar overhead. He held Ara’s feather up, waiting for her to come plunging down to scoop him. When she did, he pumped waves of White Saro through her to speed her up through frigid slipstreams.

  The wind felt good to wake him up, and though he knew in his heart Neesha was at the ground level judging him, he had to push on.

  “Alan. Token is a dreamscape at these heights,” Elkire called to the wind, riding his famed gryphon as if she were a horse.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Alan called back, saluting Tenger and the others as he fell into formation on second wing. “Report?”

  Elkire held up his fist, signaling for all gryphons to slow and form a circle formation midair. They flapped leisurely in a huddle. “If we leave before nightfall, we won’t be caught by the patrol heading west. Not clear whether this one is Red Pact, but either way, they have War Titles displayed as intimidation tactics.”

  “Telling you, bruh. None but the Red Pact would be so arrogant.” Tenger shook his finger.

  “Don’t forget the three Virath snakes slithering through the air on the path,” a lower ranking Fate Chaser said.

  “They reign at high altitude—so we’ll have to be careful of predators from above,” Elkire agreed. “Otherwise, we’re clear to make the trip.”

  “Alright, excellent. I have to make a few pit stops. Then, if you don’t mind, one more round of practice formations before we depart…”

  The others groaned. “See if you can keep up this time, Merchant!” one of the bitter men said—still blaming Alan for Irana’s death, no doubt.

  “He didn’t do too bad,” Tenger said, “for a Hammervel.”

  The others laughed. That was one of the Ojin minions he’d seen in a trance before. Stout, chubby creatures with wings so small they wouldn’t be able to carry the weight of a newborn bird.

  “Hilarious,” Alan said, feeling like the universe was out to get him this morning.

  “Alright, alright.” Elkire waved his spear—flag flapping in the wind. “That’s enough bashing the one who literally works to save the universe. We are at your disposal, Alan.”

  “Follow me.”

  Enjoying the greens and valleys blurring by as Ara soared onward, Alan couldn’t help but notice the growing number of citizens. There was an uneasiness about Junos loyalists. They could be anywhere and turn on them at any moment. The vouching system he put in place would hopefully curtail all of that, but still, his gut rumbled at the thought.

  A few miles out, Alan tugged on Ara’s reins to guide her down to a humble round-style home with a flat stone roof and a chimney that literally spat out “O”s into the air. Flint’s quarters—which Alan considered a Strangey Town embassy in his head, right next to the Asian-style home he built for Itsy—which was his Royal Horde embassy.

  Alan had to say goodbye to his best friend, since he imagined this trip would be longer than his last. He swooped down onto the grass, hopped off his mount, and walked up to the door. Just as he was about to knock, it swung open.

  “Ey!” Itsy answered in a towel, and then burst out laughing. “Hah! Should see your face, Alan. Hilarious. Ooh, big audience today, yeh?”

  “Aho, who’s there?” Flint called from the other room—Alan could see his shadow bouncing around to get his shoe on. “Alan! Yister Bimzy! I’m coming!” He rushed to the door, nearly knocking Itsy out of the way.

  The chest hair sticking out of his robe was frosty and literally misting around his face. Alan didn’t know whether to smile or gag. He was happy for his wizardly friend though. He looked joyful with the scrappy Knight.

  “Inter-realm mingling, huh?” Alan broke the ice.

  “Aha! Foreign relations. That is my duty, is it not? Well, one of them, anyway.” Flint used his staff to walk outside. “Aho, Fate Chasers!”

  “Aho, Flint!” Tenger waved, followed by the others.

  Alan blocked his view of them. “I’m off, friend. Keep Token in line for me while I’m gone, hm?”

  “You know I will. Mujungo sends his regards, by the way. He told me to gather a bunch of feathers and wave them in your face until you screamed for joy.”

  “Ahem.” Alan grimaced.

  “Yes, well, if he asks, let’s just pretend that happened.” Flint put his arms on his hips, smile dropping. “In all seriousness, Alan. You could use a hand in Hutten Fie. It is an odd realm.”

  Alan considered it, but given that Neesha was probably one hair-trigger away from releasing her sister and flying Sar’fidius straight to them, he needed as much sanity as he could get here at home. He scratched his head when it hit him he was looking to Flint for sanity.

  Jeez.

  “I could use you, Flint. More than you know. But I’m not sure an icy sled would work in our synchronized formation.”

  “Bah! Nonsense, I’d be the bell of the ball!” Flint protested.

  “Hm. We had that saying on Earth too.”

  “I got that saying from an Earth man.” Flint winked, then tapped his staff on Alan’s nose. “Fly safe out there. And remember, the universe is yours to save.” He straightened, nodded, and then proceeded to skip. “Alan, legendary Herald of Ojin. Protector of the realm. La, la la.”

  “That bruh is one happy camper when he gets laid.” Tenger leaned on his gryphon’s head.

  “May we all exude such pep!” Elkire slammed the butt of his spear on the ground.

  “Good luck, idiot.” Itsy winked at him.

  “Thanks, Itsy. Alright!” Alan spun on the Fate Chasers, holding a mint gold coin in his hand. “Here comes the judge.” He flipped Figro into existence with a red-hot bolt of lightning.

  Boom!

  The giant stone golem crashed the shield to the earth and tilted his head. “Is it time to judge again?”

  “It is. Pretend you are the great Orevella, goddess of patterns. Critique us harshly, because we only have one shot.” Alan flashed Red Saro and leapt into a backflip that landed him right on Ara’s back. He wondered if using clairvoyant Blue to predict movements would be helpful in looking as good as experienced riders. “We have to be perfection before nightfall, Figro.”

  “I worry that my keeper will surely die then.”

  “Where’s the faith!” Alan protested. “To the sky!”