It was an odd experience. Seeing how something could be so large and yet in a way, small.  He lived his big-town life never realizing. That for everyone else, all that senses have to offer, to experience, have borders.

 

Limits. 

 

Street of shoppers corner, the determination of queueing folk, glinting at the launching of a new must-have. Surreal in a way, Euca always thought. How the glam of their phone's flash only care about numerical react of far-oft strangers; pushing a button of thumbs and hearts instead of connecting with their fellow appreciator of niche, who —demographically speaking— stood beside them in the very now.

 

Then there were the jutting buildings; skyscrapers and their halfsies, apartments and their paraphernalia of districts. Together they held every morning parade of coffee-cups march. Spouting white collars, store attendants, essential service workers, and all the elses whom the society demand to work to keep decent living. They walked hurried. Tired, exasperated, detached. Herding the excitement of their running children who shouting at each other.

 

And as the busy hour recede, when the honk and blare of rushing vehicle slowed, the morning stilled. Not for long, only three hours at most before mid-noon. Where the efficient economy monolith conceded daily maintenance of its gears.

 

Euca experienced it once, the three hours. It was his second year and he finally has the courage to tried those elusive paid leaves. He planned to spend the whole week cooped up inside, doing a repeated dungeon run instead of spending another tenth of his disposable income on seasonal loot boxes.

 

Yet on the third day, all jittery from having mild panic attack thinking he might get another warning for coming late, which he obviously wouldn't, he decided he needed a change of pace. He visited the town park, bringing his old sketchbook for people-watching.

 

His drawing was more or less anatomical ...if you could find it in your heart to forgive the blob of abomination he called hands. The young man knew he's not an artist. He just loved to paint an image —inspired, idealized image of a person.

 

Crafting a backstory, from a caricature of faces, spinning a struggle from a single misplaced sock. What wonders could sprout from a seventy years old who open up two of his topmost buttons? What stories he could dream from a girl dashes, talking to her phones?

 

Putting the sketch and his trusted pencil case inside his favorite bag, he walked there all smiles. Well, he took an Uber. There was no sense letting himself get tired before he even began. But, he did walk from the entrance to the park's bench. Which according to him was quite long, around a hundred meters or so. So it's counted. Kinda.

 

As he walked from the entrance though, the cool slow-flowing wind blew at his hair. His step felt light.

 

For a moment he stopped there mid-way.

 

It was him and all nature's brim.

 

Sometimes a seldom yip, or occasional a quack-bordering honk of the black-grey geese would be heard. Other times a faint funky rap, leaking from passing joggers' earphones. Raising their eyebrow at the weird youth who stopped in the middle of the road.

 

Still, for all those distractions, those weird, questioning look. He found that, no, he etched those three hours.

 

 

Now in front of him, there were none of those.

 

All those blocks, building,  the people —pedestrians and incoming vehicles that he knew.

 

 

The park, the town, the everything he thought to stretch forever.

 

It halted.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

On the valley dent, between two hills and wheel-beaten path.  Stood on carpets of verdant birches —Ar'endal, the adventurer town.

 

Tall, sky-reaching. Her vibrant joy, her buzzing glee was kept safe by carved stones forming river-like meanders. Wrought iron's studded her walls with both age and grace. The passing years colored it dune with splotches of brownish-red. The manned ballistae were proud; beaten, scratched, yet oil-shined. 

 

Maintained.

 

Euca could see the guard regiments. Patrolling, safeguarding. Their eyes were sharp, their tone stern; wherever they walked hats will be tipped, nods will be given.

 

It was telling in a way. A living, breathing town that still has a hard physical border. How it was defined, measured, —insisted. Street of people lining before her gate, five caravans long.

 

How the leather-wearing, armor-clasping, weapon-bringing sea of individuals were smiling, bored. Laughing, stewing. Indifferent, excited.

 

How were these? How were these instead of those LARP guys? Whom Euca knew who obsessed with real-life re-enactment.

 

An outdoorsy niche of RPG's community who wore prop rifles, hauling lightwood cannon, bringing styrofoam shields, and plastic swords. Lighting up a firework and telling the other —who wholesomely and unironically agree— that the guy had thrown a sick flamethrower spell.

 

How were these? A functional, defense-focused, medieval beast of a town instead of a growing, sprawling mess that provincial governments have to reassign every fiscal year?

 

True, the Eperti, his Verdi, and "Status Menu" —as he just found out an hour ago— was damning. But there was something primal in perceiving. In experiencing what the eyes see.

 

So It was neither a heavy snack before bed, nor concussion to head.

 

It was never a dream. He really was here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"That went...well?" Euca hated to be a downer, especially to himself. But, he found it impossible to not felt nervous. He was an, what do you call it? Unregistered Immigrant from god knew where! Well from earth, of course, that much was obvious. But the guard didn't know that! And so the rest of the world if he wanted to keep his head attached. Still, for a border official, they're surprisingly...lax.

 

"*pfft* weirdo," the young boy sneer, rolling his eyes and stifling a smirk that threatened to reach full-blown hoot. The brat had been heckling him since he rode the caravan. Anxious him didn't mind it for the first three times. After all, gratitude bound and thought occupied. The fourth time though was getting on his nerves.

 

Swallowing his annoyance, he pulled a taut of polite smile that didn't quite reach eyes. Biting his cheeks, with much difficulty he managed to keep down a lethal dose of verbal venoms that threaten his tongue loose. Is it wrong to said to tell a fourteen years old kid that they're a waste of air? A disappointment born? That other people might have been happier if he isn't exi—

 

Fortunately, he doesn't need it to. A breath later a callused hand grabbing the boy's left shoulder "Besnik..."

 

"What?" the boy replied, smirk plastered still. Behind him, he could see his uncle scowling. "What do you mean what? Haven't my brother taught you manner, boy?" The man growled. His voice paused with every word.

 

Half-leaping to the side he brushes his uncle hand "Sheesh, whatever uncle~"

 

"Besnik!"

 

 

"Ouch! What the heck, Daf?!"

 

"I'm terribly sorry Mr. Euca, please forgive my brother," turning around Euca saw a young girl who has been walking with the boy for some time, twitch. Her reddened right-hand pressed the middle of her collarbone while her left lift the topmost crease of her pleated skirt, half curtsying at him. He could saw her apologizing shame meeting his surprised gaze halfway, almost forced —just a slight note before completely breaking off and turned toward the ground.

 

"Hey!"

 

"It's okay, it's okay, thank you Dafina,  Mr. Terence," Euca replies, hurried. In contrast to her brother, he has nothing but admiration toward the young girl. Euca remembered while he did spend most of his time conversing with Amy, the young girl did once ask his name in the first hour he boarded their carriage.

 

Even though her stilted, formal deliverance reeked instructed mannerism of a child obeying adult instruction. Most likely her uncle, trying to welcome his verdi-afflicted self. He still silently praised her. It obvious how she's uncomfortable around strangers. Yet she doesn't let that control her.

 

Euca remembered her similar beet red face turned white turned red again. Relieved at his gentle reply before horrified and angered at her brother. Which as one might guess, welcome him in a jeering tone. Now a few hours later, the scene repeated. She's chastising the young boy and apologizing to him.

 

Still Euca rather not have his own brother think she preferred defending stranger's honor instead of him. Her own family. That's the way of sibling rift. And at the very least, he's still in their uncle's debt.

 

"Stop apologizing to this weirdo, sis!"

 

The young girl took 180-degree turns. Rubbing her fist, she replies, "Do you want to get hit again?"

 

"Fine, fine! Sheesh!" the boy relented. Leaving the girl to walk with a puff,  giving him stink eyes.

 

The next minute was awkward. Dafina was gone, following Mr. Terence on the gate. He's been helping the other caravaneer, making sure the town doesn't overcharge them on tax when the girl started chastising the boy. It was Amy who sat beside him that break off the silence "She's doing it again you know, little Bes."

 

"What again? Stop talking weird sis, Am! A-and I'm not little! I got taller last moon!"

 

Putting down the whip sideways, she gave the boy a long look followed by a long drawn smile which Euca unable to interpret. The young boy's face seemed confused before a spark of epiphany finally reached him.

 

"Oh," that all he said before standing up and running toward his sister.

 

"Although Besnik was a bit immature... But I believe he has a point. We are at Ar'endal after all."

 

"Umm..."

 

"Do you know the first settler?" the young woman replied, unmoored. He's been asking her lots of questions. From her earliest reactions, some were supposed to be common senses, even to the children. Not that he can help it.

 

"The twelve people who build Ar'endal right?" he said after much deliberation, it was bit and pieces Euca put together listening —asking.

 

"...more or less," she replies. "Anamora was said to have offended one of the In-law of the Blue Court... "

 

"..the offense was never explained as more than crime of dignity' . Which is a catch-all. Ranging from street swindling or killing one own spouse in front of the other. "

 

"Still, Blue Court is the Blue Court. They somehow managed to urge the emperor to issue a white edict for Anamora herself."

 

"White edict?"

 

"The worst kind. Alive on shackles or dead on platters." the cracked horse neigh. Surprised, Amy realized she's been pulling the rein tight.

 

"It caused an uproar back then," slackening her grip. Euca could hear the horse purr. "The moment that people heard about it. No one from Ar'endal wanted to do anything with the empire... "

 

"...overnight, trade ceased and all the empire visiting magician, even the good one like Sir Temir and Madame Evell were expelled."

 

"The clarity only came half-moon later. The empire finally remembered half of the continent mana vein were dungeon-bound," she said shaking her head.

 

"Those idiots. It said Grey kick the emperor envoy three times from the town hall."

 

"..until Anamora, bless her bountiful heart, intervened and said enough was enough. Thus, to this day, honoring her, the first settlers agreed that all the people of Ar'endal will only be judged by the law of Ar'endal. "

 

"Even you are the worst criminal or runaway slave, as long as you never break Ar'endal law, you can have a fresh start here.  That's why it was said that not even the emperor bounty could penetrate this wall"

 

"Oh, I see."

 

"Do you have somewhere to go after this, Euca?"

 

"I think so..." He let his replies hung for a moment. Ever carefully schooling his face. Spouting the makeshift lies he crafted on the journey. "My second uncle told me to go to merchant guild first. He has a friend there."

 

Nodding, Amy hopped down. Pulling a red-orange ball from her brown satchel before rubbing the horse's nape. Euca seemed to see the horse...wiggle? Emitting a faint grey glow from its cracked seam, excited. It chomped the ball in half. Revealing a white juicy flesh of crisp much like an apple.

 

"...tral lakeside. Damn you Ter, but I won't spend another day sleeping outside!"  turning back his head, the young man saw the remaining caravan carriages trot toward him, they seem to have finished.

 

The sun was sinking west side. Three bells tolled.