Muffled hearing and hazy vision lasted for all of a second before Alan realized he was surrounded by waist-level brick mazes. The portal Hutten Fie’s Wizard had sent them through was purposefully disorienting. His gryphon cawed in dismay, ruffling her feathers while the rest of the Fate Chasers transported into the new realm with similar dizziness.

  “I present to you Hutten Fie.” Kablo walked through last. “Follow my steps exactly, or risk pain I wouldn’t wish on my starkest enemy.”

  Pyramids of warm colors and alternating brick patterns were perfectly staggered in the distance, and closer, stood wooden cylinder-shaped structures that hung connecting strings like clotheslines, each with knitted banners in between. A clang made Alan turn on his heel, where beyond the maze was a barracks full of soldiers running drills outside in robotic fashion. When one would step out of line, a Wizard would zap them from the barracks roof.

  “Punishing.” Tenger grimaced.

  “Indeed.” Elkire straightened. “Reminds me of my days in the Junos military. Though I’m not sure there is even a day of wear and tear on your barracks.”

  “Mind your tongue here, Knight,” Kablo hissed. “We do not revere other gods in the presence of Orevella. Ever.”

  Elkire lifted his chin. “Apologies, kind Kablo. I meant no disrespect.”

  Alan exchanged a glance with the Fate Chaser. How oddly territorial the Wizard was acting. But when Kablo waved his hand for him to forget it, Alan hoped things weren’t as serious as they seemed.

  “Come. This way.” Kablo pointed his staff.

  Alan led the line behind Kablo, unable to help but watch the seagulls flying above in insanely complex patterns that changed by the second. The woman washing clothes beyond the maze to his left walked in three circles before hanging a sheet. It reminded Alan of Flint performing crazy stunts for Mujungo. She appeared nervous though. Less free.

  He wondered if there was darkness in this realm yet to be seen.

  Kablo hugged the left ledge down the path, tapping every fourth tile carefully with his staff—which illuminated Saro-filled colors. “Keep your beasts in line! They aren’t immune to the traps, Knight.”

  “What’s the purpose of this?” Alan asked.

  “Every portal to Hutten Fie has rigorous safeguards. Our Wizards have spent years redirecting the spawn locations of our pockets to precise coordinates within the realm.”

  “So if someone tried to invade, they’d be zapped to oblivion,” Alan surmised.

  “Precisely. And if one of you tried to get wise and fly out, there’s an invisible Orange ceiling that would fry you, head first.”

  “Lovely. Lovely.” Tenger grimaced again. “Really digging all the hospitality.”

  This would be the part where Irana would slap the whip-wielder and tell him to shut the hell up. Her absence left a gaping hole in the Fate Chaser’s personality, and it gripped Alan’s gut to think it was his fault.

  They came up to a corner where Kablo halted them. “One step to the right and hug the ledge.”

  Alan and crew struggled to shorten the leashes of their complaining gryphons. Eyes were starting to find the newcomers, but most swiftly went back to what they were doing in methodical fashion.

  “Quests?” Alan asked.

  “Rituals,” Kablo corrected. “Those of Hutten Fie bow to Orevella’s principles. Beauty in repetition. Strength in ritual. Everything here is practiced to perfection. It gives us a sense of purpose and also works to reduce anxiety that comes from the outside chaos.”

  Alan was starting to understand why Figro was so headstrong about his dishonor. The rigidity of this realm was somewhat terrifying. Even the butterflies flew past in figure eights… or the infinity symbols, depending on perspective.

  They continued carefully following their guide for a good ten minutes, listening to stories about Hutten Fie’s rise to strength. The armies practiced until exhaustion, prayed to the goddess of patterns until they passed out, then woke up to craft additives to their own weapons and hone their Saro until it was time to train again. They were machines.

  Alan wondered if an alliance with such rigid people would ultimately become a deficit. Judging by the way Kablo spoke, Hutten Fie would probably be adamant about adopting their practices, and in a situation like that, they’d never see eye to eye.

  Once they got out of the maze, Alan took a deep breath. “Well, that was stressful.”

  “That’s because you aren’t in tune with our practices. Stay long enough, and you’ll see this is the way.”

  “The way to an early grave, maybe.” Tenger frowned.

  “Manners, brethren.” Elkire slapped Tenger’s chest, earning a comical kaw! from his gryphon.

  “Hm.” Kablo paced now that the guests were lined up outside the maze, rubbing his chin and making inquisitive noises.

  “Will we be consulting with Orevella?”

  “Heavens no. Perhaps one of the hands.”

  Alan cleared his throat. “But we have prepared rituals to please your god.”

  Kablo stopped in his tracks, squinting.

  “A sign of great respect before we exchange information,” Alan assured. “Our nameless ally of yours prepped us well.”

  “If that were so, they would’ve told you assigning flight permissions is a great honor that you have not earned, Merchant.” Kablo pointed to the sky, where shooting stars of different colors intersected to create lingering methodic trails.

  Alan tilted his head in confusion.

  “Entertainers and their slipstreams. I swear they want to get lost in the outer banks of the realm.” Kablo brandished his staff at them. “They should practice useful rituals in times of war. I, for one, support the mandatory draft so that we may combat the Red Pact.”

  “Then what kind of realm would you be returning to if you survived?” Alan couldn’t help himself.

  Kablo hissed. “A less wasteful one.”

  “You call this wasteful?” Alan presented cleanly paved stoned streets, and rows of meticulously crafted wooden constructions with perfectly manicured landscapes.

  “When a conqueror marches to claim the universe, everything not used to stop them is wasteful,” Kablo assured.

  “If that is your worry, I would recommend getting us council with your goddess. Sooner rather than later,” Alan tried using Kablo’s fear to his advantage.

  Again, Kablo narrowed his eyes. “What ill tidings do you bring, Merchant?”

  “Visions not meant for a mortal’s eyes,” Alan said ominously. “Even the fiercest unity grouped army wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Kablo huffed. “You underestimate our strength.”

  “And you theirs.”

  Kablo scraped his staff and began down the first pathway leading to the residential structures. People with patterned cowls crossed the street in zigzag patterns while mumbling to themselves. Kablo used his oversized staff proudly to walk a straight line, forcing the citizens to go around him.

  “I have decided to take you to our hall of heroes, where the hands will decide your fate.” Kablo turned with a scowl. “Step into my circle.” He stamped his staff, creating another pattern of Blue Saro at their feet. “It will be an expedient route, as you requested.”

  “Thank you.” Alan bowed graciously.

  “If my clairvoyance is somehow misleading me… if you bring nothing but rubbish into our midst, I will cast you to stone myself,” the goblin hissed.

  “We were there when the war started, Kablo. In Strangey Town. We staved off Jaeger’s minions by the skin of our teeth. I assure you… we do not come to waste time.”

  The Fate Chasers nodded, confirming the truth of it.

  Kablo stared on blankly, trying to hide his emotion.

  “You didn’t know?” Alan surmised.

  Kablo kept quiet, conjuring the portal. Right as they dissipated, he spoke, “We were told it was Strangey Town who invaded Hozzod.”

  Alan’s eyes widened, and when he materialized again, his arms were crossed in Gray Saro chains. He jerked every which way to break free and realized in that moment that his Saro dwarfed the Wizard’s. With a blink of blood-Red, the shackles cracked at his wrists. Then he came to his senses—what good would it do? He had to convince them to become allies. A show of force might not be the best idea… yet.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He looked over his shoulder to the Fate Chasers cursing, but he calmed them with a quick nod. Then he took in his surroundings—rows of statues to his right, like a graveyard mixed with a museum. Revered heroes stood with plaques etched into their daises. In front of him stood a cabin with what looked to be a knitted roof made of a blanket. Odd, to say the least.

  Kablo formed from the feet up, facing Alan with angry eyes. “Deception is not tolerated in Hutten Fie, Merchant.”

  “Now I see the limitations of a realm so closed off from the universe,” Alan said calmly.

  Kablo’s scowl intensified, holding the staff up to Alan’s throat. “Mind your tongue.”

  “As you wish.”

  Kablo turned and spread his arms toward the cabin. “Protectors of Orevella, I request your council. Foreigners from beyond the Ojin Mountains have displayed the sacred pattern of alliance, yet come with deception in their hearts.”

  “So much for letting the hands judge for themselves,” Alan said, readying to bust out of the chains at a moment’s notice.

  Kablo turned with the nastiest scowl yet. “The one who told me of Strangey Town’s invasion is a dear friend who has never led us astray on Ojin raids.”

  “Well then, either your friend has fallen from grace or is as ill-informed as you, Wizard.” Alan felt the Hutten Fie alliance slipping from his fingertips.

  As the doors of the cabin burst open, two literal gloved hands leapt onto their fingers—one black with gold designs and the other white with blue.

  “Gizmo and Gilfa, hands of Orevella. We bow to your exceptional design.” Kablo bent to one knee.

  Alan, feeling less amenable, stood tall with the Fate Chasers, eyeing the two hands pulling string from inside one another’s gloves.

  “We should take them as souvenirs for Ufanda. Always thought the gown could use a pair of gloves.” Tenger laughed at his own joke.

  “I’d shut you up, but I no longer feel inclined.” Elkire pursed his lips.

  Once enough yarn was pulled, the two gloves floated in the air, crisscrossing the string and creating intricate patterns that held magically in the air. They toiled and spun and soared like birds until a face of string floated before them, judging them all.

  “Well, this is unexpected.” Alan furrowed his brow.

  “How did you come upon our alliance pattern, riders?” The string-lips moved like a jump rope, and its expression changed by the puppet master’s wiggling hands.

  “Through a friend who has no name,” Alan said.

  “A dishonorable friend then.” The string eyebrows moved like a caterpillar. “Why are you here, deceivers? Do you come to threaten?”

  As the face spoke, formations of dragon riders came roaring from the horizon. Helldrakens. Dozens of them. All different colors. Red, blue, even orange, all leading wyverns at their backs. Their forces were magnificent.

  Jeez. He thought back to the dangers at home… the visions of Sar’fidius’ full army. Jaeger’s. I can’t leave without them.

  “On the contrary, hands of Orevella, I’ve come to pay homage to the goddess of patterns and exchange information that would be mutually beneficial in times of war. However, I now see that you are not only ill informed, but wrongfully trusting as well.”

  The face gasped, and the gloves spread their fingers in dismay.

  “You dare insult while stuck in such a vulnerable position?”

  Alan thought hard about what was happening. The face continued asking questions. And since the realm seemed to relish only in patterns, he figured that applied to speech too.

  “Why do you think I’m in a vulnerable position?” Alan responded with a question of his own.

  The face lost form for a moment before the gloves scurried to reorient the string.

  “We are asking the questions.” The face’s expression grew angered.

  “Are you?” Alan kept on.

  “Yes?” The string lost form again, and Alan couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What is so comical?” The face blew White Saro air from its mouth.

  “You tell me?” Alan arced an eyebrow, not waiting for the face to reform before answering the question, “A realm used to only obedience will fall flat on their faces when faced with bravery.”

  “Do you wish to test that theory?” The face tilted toward the riders in the sky.

  “I already know all of them.” Alan blinked in and out of his trances. “The one atop the blue led a raid into the corkscrew tunnels of Agabon. And her, atop the orange draken, grasped the spear of Ilunari. Ripped it right out of the ogre’s head in the thick orange fog of Modofor. We would prevail over them all.”

  “Alan!” Tenger whispered. “Love the enthusiasm and all, but really?”

  “Sh!” Elkire nudged him.

  The face dropped like twirling pasta, reforming, though failing to hide its shock.

  “However!” Alan stepped past the Wizard, ignoring his endless scoffs. “I will hold back in honor of the friend who sent me.”

  “Oh, you will, will you?”

  Alan inverted his vision to angry red, not having to think hard to do so. The time Trish walked out, the scout that burst into his apartment and robbed him of his first life. Not knowing where his mom and sister wound up.

  Junos turning his back on his people.

  Neesha losing faith in him after literally dangling Gregorian in front of him for months.

  Trish returning and only wanting him for his success.

  It all angered him to no end.

  Pshh!

  The Saro chains shattered to mist at his feet, jarring Kablo to turn defensively with his staff pointed right at Alan’s face.

  Knowing Kablo’s staff was stuffed with hidden Gray Saro, all he had to do was inject a bit of his own to shrink it down to a toothpick… so he did.

  Fttthm!

  Kablo squealed and retreated a step.

  “I am Alan Right, owner of Token,” his voice sounded more demonic than he’d hoped, but if this was a consequence of harboring such power, so be it. “I have come to speak with Orevella, and Orevella only. So if you would be kind enough to lead me to your goddess, I would much appreciate it. If not… we will be leaving.”

  Red and Black Saro wafted around Alan’s body like a budding flame.

  Ch! Ch! Ch!

  Vibrations sounded in the distance as the Helldraken formations circled overhead. As the surrounding sandy fog faded, thousands of troops became apparent, marching in a massive half-moon on either side of them—a Black Saro unity group and a White one. They were intending to freeze and perhaps draw them under. Not good.

  “Hutten Fie does not respond well to threats.”

  “Neither does Token.” Alan tightened his fist, shooting a spear of mixed Saro to free the Fate Chasers. “Which is why we should work together to stop the ultimate one. The Red Pact.”

  As the soldiers surrounding Alan and crew interlocked around both sides—creating a full circle—mixing the unity groups, the hands started to quaver. All of the Helldraken pulled back high into the air, and the soldiers all faced forward at attention.

  “What now?” Tenger unfurled his whip.

  The hands sucked up their string and dropped to the ground like they’d been flung, then scurried back into the cabin from which they came.

  Kablo gasped. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?” Alan’s vision heated to the point where he thought he might explode with power.

  “You’ve done it…” Kablo’s voice trailed off. “She blesses us with her presence.”

  “Hm?” Tenger tilted his head.

  “The great Orevella, goddess of patterns. Bow, you fools. Bow!” Kablo quickly pressed his head against the ground and threw his hands in front of him.

  Alan waved his hand once to tell his riders, “No.”

  If challenging Hutten Fie got them this far, then why stop now?

  Alan’s anger faded almost entirely when the cabin doors burst open again to reveal an elderly lady being rolled down the ramp with a blanket over her lap and two knitting needles hard at work.

  Bmof!

  The sound of a thousand soldiers taking an armored knee resonated, and for the first time, Alan felt embarrassed not following suit. She was as pleasant-looking as his grandmother back on Earth. Except, he had to remember that looks could be deceiving, especially here. And especially with a goddess.

  Orevella toiled, biting her lip while knitting something extraordinary, Alan was sure.

  When a little chick made of pink yarn flew out of her lap and shed the yarn to reveal a healthy body of feathers, Alan questioned all life in this realm. Had she created it? Was she a god in the traditional sense?

  “Hello there, everyone,” her voice was mild and shaky, also like Alan’s grandma. She didn’t use any amplifiers or threatening motions. She was lovely.

  Alan turned again to his Fate Chasers and motioned for them to kneel along with him. His vision blinked back to normal.

  “I’m told we have guests.” She chuckled, glancing back at Gizmo and Gilfa rolling her along. Then she faced forward. “Ah, there they are, sticking out like a sore thumb. Not a pattern to be seen. Here. Hold on a second, lovelies.” She looked to her threads once more and began knitting away, tongue sticking out. “For the lot of you.” She tossed regal-looking gold scarfs that wrapped comfortably around them. “Don’t ever say Hutten Fie sends its visitors away with nothing.”

  Scarf of Orevella’s Warmth received.

  Original Saro—Adaptable

  LOCKED

  Ability—Taste of Home—Inhale the warm apple pie scent baked into the scarf to unveil deep memories of comfort and coziness.

  Alan looked to the Fate Chasers already lost in the goddess’s hypnosis. Their eyes rolled back as they swayed from side to side. Even Elkire leaned on his fellow soldier.

  “Isn’t that a sight.” Orevella smiled warmly, then frowned when her gaze landed on Alan. She waved her hand for the gloves to roll her closer. “Hmm. Something must have gone terribly wrong for my scarf not to provide you some sort of comfort, Mister Merchant. Terribly wrong.” She shook her head.

  Alan grimaced, because she was right. Trish had robbed him of everything warm about him. Turned him into a war machine too. It was like he was missing half of himself. Even with Irana gone, the Fate Chasers weren’t half as broken as he was.

  “Please get up. You’re going to hurt your knees like that,” Orevella said.

  Chrt!

  A thousand armored shin guards lifting around Alan prompted him to do the same.

  “You too, dearest Kablo. I worry most about you. You watch from the mountains so intensely, I wonder if your eyes always burn.”

  Her voice is so soothing. Like a hot cup of tea.

  Alan grew somewhat lost in her aura.

  “Your harsh tone reached my ears, Alan Right.” Orevella folded her hands on her lap. “You come with rough tidings, and… ritual, I think.”

  “We do, ma’am,” Alan said. “And thank you for the scarves. My friends needed the lift.”

  “And what of you, my child? You suffer.”

  Alan shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “Very well.” Orevella tilted her head pleasantly. “Would you care to show me your ritual?”

  “We would.” Alan tapped his armor for the Fate Chasers to snap out of their stupor. He led the charge in unraveling the scarves and gently coined his into his pouch. As he did, he noticed one of the coins trembling inside. He thumbed it.

  Figro… what are you trying to tell me?

  Alan shook his head, keeping to the promise of not summoning him in his old realm. As he used a flick of Red to hop onto Ara, he gazed at the god. “I have so many questions.”

  “I’ll bet you do, Alan. But I am so eager to see what you’ve brought me. I will watch with utmost attention. That I promise.”

  “And if we perform to par, may we share a meeting of the minds?”

  “Certainly.” Her cheeks turned rosy.

  WAR-TIME OFFER ACCEPTED.

  If Orevella, goddess of the Hutten Fie realm, accepts your terms of adequate flight path in exchange for a meeting, unique War Titles will be bestowed to your party.

  “Right.” Alan turned to Elkire, finding a renewed sense of hope that this trip wasn’t for nothing.

  The Fate Chasers all mounted up, and on Alan’s lead, took to the sky with one synchronized set of flaps. The gryphons complained at the Helldraken swerving out of the way to make room for their show. Looking down, Alan couldn’t believe the number of soldiers that marched to surround their goddess. In perfect parade fashion, they performed intricate side-steps that made people look like the gears of a clock.

  “I worry we’re not dealing with people,” Alan shouted to Elkire.

  “This whole place gives me the creeps. Except for Orevella,” Tenger yelled from the rear.

  “Even if they are soulless warriors, their spears and swords are real.” Elkire straightened.

  “Alright, everyone. Just like we practiced. Ignore the drakes and the taunting soldiers below. This is for the only one who welcomed us. Hoo!” Alan drew his blade.

  “Hoo!”