For him, realization was an odd thing. It like a pet cat that had been following behind you for years. And aside from a few meows, the occasional purrs, both which you found to be endearing, it kept its silence.

Then one day, on a normal 4.38 p.m Friday afternoon, the one where you lied around on the couch, strewn. TV buzzing by the background, a bag of chips half-eaten by your side —scrolling your phone mindless, trawling half-baked memes. You know, a normal Friday afternoon. The one when you left you wondering what you should plan for a productive weekend.

Perhaps you would finally take that woodworking class, the one that you had been putting off for the last twenty weekends. It might be great. Lifechanging. You’ve seen how hobbies —sorry, passions— somehow tempered your sorry excuse for friends into a well-rounded respectable adult. So you might just do that. Give it a whirl.

And as you heaved yourself from the couch, feeling the sticky pull of your sweat and the long-suffering leather, deciding that this decision must be the epiphanies that long elude you, it spoke.

At first, you couldn’t believe it, cat couldn’t speak, it meowed cutely ...sometimes. Often it just ignored you.

Yet not just spoke it did. It spoke truth.

It spoke candidly, concisely. It spoke an argument based not on bad faith, but on virtue. It was structured, coherent. It was logical.

It confronted you.

And?

And it broke you.

It broke your tenet, your belief, your world view. The one you either knew you had and lavishly praised, acclaimed as educated. Or those you didn’t know you owned, by which you perceived as normal everyday thing, the nitty-gritty heuristic of how reasonable person would respond, the way things simply be.

And that you was he. Him. A young man who by the growing seconds kept having his view turned upside down again and again. A young man who found himself shivering, shocked, and in low-grade confused dread.

 

A young man who got hit by realization.

 

He saw it. Lines upon lines upon lines. Lines of people. Lines of individuals. Leather-wearing, armor-clasping, weapon-bringing individuals.

And they were real. Real-real. Some were smiling, some were bored. A couple was laughing, that one in front was stewing. But most were indifferent, only a bunch were excited.

And those were telling in a way. That exist a part of him that had been whispering a calming lullaby, a dull denial dirge really, that everything might simply be a part of a long, long dream.

Then, he was here. Seeing. And it broke him. Wall by wall. Pillar by pillar.

So he did what all unbelievers did when presented something that contradicts.

He confronted it.

He closed the window shut, scooted past the wooden bench, and hopped down. Ignoring the pain of not using proper stepping ladder. He half-pushed, half-shoved the people around. Muttering distracted sorry, leaving the line his caravan was in.

And as he ran and ran, as the cacophony stop, as the surrounding cleared of people. He beheld it. The naked truth.

By the open meadow, inside a valley dent, and on edges of the verdant birches there she laid. A living, breathing town.

Her swarm of people and structures was wrapped and kept safe by carved stones forming river-like meanders. Wrought iron studded her walls with both age and grace. The passing years colored its dune with splotches of brownish-red. The manned ballistae were proud; beaten, scratched, yet oil-shined. Maintained.

And as he shifted his eyes down from those twenty meters high, he saw groups of a pair walking around. Males with black attire. Carrying spears by their side.

Guards.

They were patrolling. Checking, administering what he perceived as a rudimentary form of tax-enforcing logistic. Their eyes were sharp, their attitude stern; wherever they walked, hats will be tipped, nods will be given.

True, the Eperti, Verdi, and 'Status Menu' as he just found out an hour ago was damning. But this —this was seeing. Seeing what the eyes see.

So as he walked back, climbing using the provided ladder this time, he exhaled his last disbelief.

It was not a heavy snack before bed. It was not a concussion to his head.

It was never a dream.

He really was here; in Another World.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"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.

For a border official, they're surprisingly lax.

"*pfft* Weirdo,"

The damn kid sneered, stifling a smirk that he knew would reach a full-blown hoot given time. 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 starting to get on his nerves.

Swallowing his annoyance, he pulled a taut, polite smile. The one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Was it wrong to tell a fourteen years old child that they were a waste of air? A disappointment born? That other people might be happier if he didn’t exist?

Fortunately, he didn't need to. For just a breath later, a callused hand grabbed the boy's left shoulder

"Besnik..."

He almost broke into cathartic laughter which for politeness’s sake only manifested as grin. Wide one that he almost assured the brat saw.

"What?"

"What do you mean what? Hasn't my brother taught you manner?"

You were in trouble. You were in trouble!

"Sheesh, whatever uncle!"

Ooh. Bad choice. The kid gonna get it. He should not brush his uncle’s hand.

"Besnik!"

BAM!

What? He didn’t expect that. He stared at the hanging fist, mouth half-opened. Rapped loud on the deserving brat head, was a little white fist. It was Dafina, the kid’s sister, and she literally just bonked him out hard.

"Ouch! What the heck, Daf?!"

"I'm terribly sorry Mr. Euca, please forgive my brother,"

Euca twitched. Relenting at her reddened right hand, likely swollen. It pressed the middle of her collarbone while at the same time her left was lifting the topmost crease of her pleated skirt, half curtsying at him.

And her face… It was beet red, shame apparent in her eye. Her voice quavering. It almost telling how she forced herself to apologize —to say another sorry for his brother. With just the barest nod from him, even before even he began to speak, she immediately broke the eye contact.

"Hey!"

"It's okay, it's okay, thank you Dafina, Mr. Terence." He hastily replied. Toward the girl, then toward Mr. Terence. Dipping his head half-bowed. That seemed to settle the girl somewhat. He sighed, relieved.

He had nothing but admiration toward the girl. 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.

And 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 praised her. It obvious how she was uncomfortable around strangers. Yet, she didn’t let that control her.

Euca remembered her similar expression: red face turned white turned red again. Started shy, relieved at his gentle reply, before horrified at her brother’s which of course had jeered at him.

And now just a scant hour later, the scene repeated itself. She was pushing herself to apologize for his brat brother.

Still, Euca rather not have his own brother thought she preferred defending stranger's honor instead of him, her own family. That was the way of sibling rift. And at the very least, even ignoring all that, which he wouldn't, he was still in their uncle's debt.

"Stop apologizing to this weirdo, sis!"

The girl took 180-degree turns. And at her frown, he flinched. No wonder it said hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Do you want to get hit again?"

"Fine, fine! Sheesh!"

The kid relented. Leaving her to walk with a puff, trailing toward the town gate. If he had to guess, she followed her uncle. The man had left first without saying a word. Though he admitted it was quite odd. The man had stopped chastising the brat the second the girl intervened.

Had he somehow decided the girl got it?

That a lot of trusts to be put into a fifteen year olds.

"She's doing it again you know, little Bes."

It was Amy who broke the silence. The young woman was loosening the rein when the episode happened.

"What again? Stop talking weird, sis Am!” The ungrateful kid gave her a matter-of-factly look. “A-and I'm not little! I got taller last moon!"

One look and he know the brat was in trouble. Again. He watched in almost giddy excitement when she answered his queries. His silly, stupid queries. She took the whip and put it down on the carriage's front sideways. Then, proceeded to stare at the kid.

She stared so long that Euca himself started to felt uncomfortable. And just as he tried to speak, lightening the situation somehow, the kid spoke. "Oh," he said before immediately ran toward his sister.

"Although Besnik was a bit immature…” —she sighed as she saw the kid almost stumbled halfway to the gate— “But I believe he has a point. We are at Ar'endal after all."

"Umm..."

"Do you know the first settler?"

There was it again. She had been asking him lots of questions. Which judging from her earliest ones she asked before arriving, were supposed to be common senses even to the children. Not that he could help it. He wasn't from here! Fake it till you make it, Euca!

"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 replied. "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 could be everything. It could be a simple theft, cutting a coinpurse from a couldn't-be-offended merchants or it could be killing another people spouse —right in front of the other eyes. "

"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 not-horse neigh.

"It caused an uproar back then." He saw her releasing the rein, it glided front on her palm, then to his surprise, the neigh stopped. Replaced by a 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 magicians, even the good ones like Sir Temir and Madame Evell were expelled."

"Their clarity if it even could be called that" —she sneered— "only came half-moon later. The empire finally remembered half of the continent mana vein were dungeon-bound."

"Those idiots.” She shook her head. “It said Grey kicked the emperor's 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…” she paused. Causing —forcing him to swallow his wry smile, threatening to burst. The accusation hurt. He wasn't a criminal!

He was a victim. ”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." He nodded. Pretend-nodded. Letting the misunderstanding be. Well, better that he supposed than be captured as a slave.

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

"Yes..." Ever carefully he schooled 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, the young woman hopped down. Perhaps acknowledging. Likely humoring his lies. He didn’t know. He didn’t know...

Pulling a red-orange ball from her brown satchel, she rubbed the not-horse's nape. Was that a ...wiggle?

A faint grey glowed from its cracked seam. Then with a high pitch neigh —a one swift motion, 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 to the sound, he saw the remaining carriages of the caravan trotted toward them. Mr. Terence and a particularly ...large man were seen walking on the front, taking lead. Beside him was the kid, looking almost ashamed.

The sun was sinking west side. Fifteen bells tolled.