Shocking, frigid and disorienting are all words too soft to express the absolute overload of stimulus that Frank was subjected to. Choking and sputtering it feels like drowning in the arctic depths while simultaneously having the inferno of the sun blazing on every facet of his being. Feeling the course surface underneath him and trying to close his eyes, if he has eyes to try and escape the sheer intensity of the light raining down on him. Sputtering out and finally getting some air into his desperate lungs Frank try’s to get a word out but only a guttural howl comes out.

Mind racing and not understanding Frank sees a blue screen appear in front of him in a strange manner that is reminiscent of his college days online playing games.

{Vralis ti'ka rondo mekra! Lythan darol ekka vorva thal?}

1. Zophel irnoth qri'va, thist zaranqi bando eslek thuon!

2. Dorka yivet phina korro neshtal vrenta ik suvela!

3. Fylth merian zotro pek ti'lon hathreska omravi s'nor!

4. Karak nivaro sumen tylia bekvron otlav seflarith!

5. Tuvros shentharal medov klissan ventha ophel drakno!

6. Zethrun i'bari vexon noktruva slet ophel mechtra xor!

7. Qunath dreven skelthir omvoshya kthalan urveth!

8. Elvor tri'marak sestia virdal reshkoth ulvern takto!

9. Palven fira'thel skethra dumol vithos krenar voxtan!

Words that vaguely seems english but not echo through his mind, a searing pain begins in his stomach area and Frank feels like he’s going to have a heart attack. Reeling from his blissful slumber in a blanket of not darkness to this insufferable existence makes him question once again what is going on exactly.

Looking at the words and trying his best to calm his mind despite the pain and overload, Frank looked at one of them more intently to try and understand.

{Tuvros shentharal medov klissan ventha ophel drakno!}

{Grenthar veth onros marnith! Thrathiva nox kethlori, heronai!}

With a rush of wind the stimulus only grows to a crescendo as Frank feels something invade his entire being and feel tendrils drill through his mind.

A brief reprieve is all he gets before the pain is too much and he passes out from the exhaustion.

__________________________________________

Midsummer draped the quaint town of Tellemoria in a warm, golden embrace. Nestled snugly between towering mountain ranges that guarded it from the bustling capitals beyond, this pastoral haven was a world unto itself. The air was rich with the scent of wildflowers and the distant melody of a babbling brook that wound its way through emerald meadows. With a population of ninety-three on a good year, every soul was a familiar thread in the tapestry of community life, and every corner of the town held memories etched by generations.

On this serene evening, the sun began its slow descent, casting hues of amber and rose across the sky. Anthonellis and his wife, Areibel, relaxed on the wooden back porch of their cozy farmhouse. The house itself was a charming structure of stone and timber, adorned with ivy that climbed its walls and flower boxes bursting with colorful blooms under each window. The porch overlooked rolling fields dotted with haystacks and bordered by a fence that Anthonellis had built with his own hands decades ago.

Anthonellis, or Andy as he preferred to be called was a tall man with a robust build that belied his seventy-five years. His once raven-black hair was now a silver mane that flowed to his shoulders, and his face bore the gentle lines of a life filled with both adventure and contentment. His emerald-green eyes still sparkled with the vigor of youth, especially when he looked at Areibel.

Areibel was a vision of timeless beauty. Her long blonde hair, now kissed with strands of silver, cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. Her eyes were a deep, serene blue, reminiscent of the crystal-clear lake that lay just beyond the hills. She moved with a grace that spoke of both her powerful lineage and the agility honed from years of adventuring alongside her husband.

The glow of twilight bathed them as they reminisced, laughter bubbling up from stories told a hundred times before—each retelling a cherished ritual only a couple married for forty three years could truly savor. The porch was adorned with comfortable chairs and a small table bearing a teapot and two cups, steam still wafting from the freshly brewed herbal tea made from herbs grown in Areibel's own garden.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Already giggling, Areibel nestled closer into Andy's chest. She leaned up, her hand resting gently on his heart, feeling the steady rhythm that had been her anchor through countless escapades. "Andy, I kid you not," she began, her eyes sparkling with mirth, "he caused Mayor Thomson's chair to shrink just enough to tip him off balance! He tumbled right off the stage. And if that wasn't enough, I was serving punch at the town hall meeting. Thomson was trying to woo Ilyanna—you know, my cousin's friend who visits every fall. Oh, you should have seen her face when he reappeared, sputtering and covered in cow dung! I'll never forget it—it was like this!" She pulled a comical face, scrunching her nose and widening her eyes, and Andy couldn't help but burst into laughter, the memory vivid and delightful.

It was that very night he'd returned from his first adventure and first laid eyes on Areibel. The town hall had been abuzz with excitement, lanterns casting a warm glow over the assembled townsfolk. She was a radiant beam of sunshine amid the lackluster prospects of the region. Long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a lithe form just blossoming into womanhood. She wore a simple yet elegant dress of lavender, adorned with delicate embroidery that she had done herself. Breathless and wide-eyed, Andy knew in that moment he'd remember her forever. While she was engrossed in the antics of a mischievous youth with a troublesome first revealed talent —{Whimsy Warp}, if memory served—Andy was utterly captivated by her. The melody of her laughter, carried on the evening breeze, sealed his heart's desire.

Snapped back to the present by the muse of his memories, he gazed down at her, a twinkle lighting up his eyes. "What's that look for?" she asked softly, her voice an inviting whisper.

"I was just remembering how beautiful you were that night," he replied, his voice rich with affection.

"Just that night?" she teased, a playful glint in her eye.

"Every night since, you've only grown more beautiful," he said earnestly. He took her in—the blonde hair now touched with silver, eyes that seemed even bluer than in her youth. Her slender figure had weathered years of adventure and wilderness, yet she remained as graceful and captivating as ever, each line a testament to their shared journeys. Scars, faint but telling, traced along her forearms—a reminder of battles fought side by side. Around her neck hung a pendant, a simple silver leaf he had given her on their first anniversary.

Seeing his admiration, Areibel—whom he and most others called Bell—preened with joy. "I love it when you look at me like that," she sighed contentedly, leaning back into his embrace. The scent of lavender and sage from her garden clung softly to her, enveloping them both in a comforting aroma. "I still—"

A sudden, resounding bang erupted from the front of the house, cutting her off. The sound echoed across the quiet fields, startling a flock of birds into flight. In an instant, they moved with a swiftness quickly called on. Areibel seized her staff, an elegant piece of craftsmanship carved from ancient oak and inlaid with runes that glowed faintly under her touch though a bit weathered in age. Anthonellis grabbed his spear, a sturdy weapon with a blade forged from star-steel, reflecting the fading light with a cold gleam. They exchanged a tense glance, the easygoing warmth replaced by the keen alertness of seasoned adventurers.

"What was that?" she whispered, her eyes scanning the shadows.

"I don't know," he replied, eyes narrowing as he listened intently. "But we'd best be on our guard. Rifts don't form spontaneously often, but it's happened before."

With practiced agility, they navigated through their quaint farmhouse, the interior a cozy blend of rustic charm and mementos from their travels—shelves lined with ancient tomes, walls adorned with tapestries depicting distant lands, and artifacts collected from their numerous quests. The glow of protective wards flickered softly along the doorframes and windows, a silent testament to their vigilance.

Reaching the front door, they cracked it open cautiously. The cool night air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of ozone and something else—something unfamiliar. They heard the unmistakable sound of a sputtering, wailing baby. The cry was weak but insistent, piercing the quiet night.

"Careful—it could be mind manipulation," Andy cautioned, his grip tightening on his spear.

"Nonsense! My mind is fortified enough no rift in this mana sparse area could break it" Bell retorted confidently. Setting her staff aside but keeping it within arm's reach, she rushed out into the night, her long gown flowing behind her like a ghostly apparition. The moonlight bathed the yard in a silvery glow, illuminating the source of the cries.

There, on their doorstep, lay an infant—still bearing its umbilical cord and smeared with the signs of birth. Just as she reached the child, it let out a final cry before slipping into unconsciousness, a massive influx of mana swirling around its tiny form like a radiant aura.

"What was that?" the couple exclaimed in unison, eyes wide with astonishment.

They exchanged a glance filled with a mixture of concern and intrigue. Andy knelt beside Bell, his spear laid carefully aside.

As they stood there under the watchful gaze of the moon, the surroundings seemed to hold their breath. The usual night sounds—crickets chirping, leaves rustling—had fallen silent. The air was thick with the weight of something significant, an unspoken portent of events yet to unfold.

"We can't leave it out here," Bell said firmly, her maternal instincts overriding any hesitation. "We need to bring the child inside."

Andy nodded, his protective nature aligning with her resolve. "Agreed. But we must be cautious. If someone—or something—left the baby here, there may be more to this than we realize."

Together, they carried the child into their home, the door closing softly behind them. The warm glow of the hearth welcomed them back, casting comforting shadows across the room. Bell laid the baby on a soft blanket atop the table, her hands already moving to assess the child's well-being.

As she worked, Andy stood guard, senses attuned to any further disturbances. His gaze drifted to the window, where the mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks touching the stars.

"What do you think it means?" he asked quietly, turning back to watch Bell gently cleaning the infant.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I do know that fate has a way of bringing those in need to our door. We've faced the unknown before, and we'll face it again—together."

He smiled at her, the love and trust between them unspoken but deeply felt. "Together," he agreed.