Alan spent his days restoring Strangey Town – scrubbing trees free of poison Saro, working with Flint to stabilize magical fissures in the sky, and calming Lucius about their lack of progress. In truth though, Alan was anxious too.

What was Neesha’s fate in Ojin? Did the dragon…?

Abandoning a friend in need created a black hole in the pit of his stomach – one that reared its head in the form of Red and Black Saro swirled together. Instinct and Dread. Seemed like a sure path to the dark side to him. But he couldn’t be distracted by that, because then he would succumb to those damn clairvoyant frogs that loved to tease him so. Instead, he learned what he could from his friends, asking Durger more about his old group so he could function better in his own. Those were how he spent his days…

And his nights… he lay awake in Lucius’ Orange Saro cave, practicing Green Saro restorative meditations. Switching to his new Selfless Merchant Title proved to bolster the whole process too. Whenever active, it felt like his airways expanded to let energy flow freely. He was getting the hang of it, summoning green essence faster, allowing it to cycle harder around wounds without trepidation. Not only was it restoring his body, but evoking such power brightened his mind with old memories, happy ones. It worked to combat the dread.

“Ah.” Flint walked over – his staff an unwanted light in the dark cave. “I bring you Dun Dun tea from the bar.” He took a cross-legged seat beside Alan, earning all sorts of snarls from the surrounding Stalkers.

Campfire after campfire had its own circle of dark warriors. They’d eat, and talk, and duel, and drink, which made it look like a desert commune somewhere in Nevada where Alan used to live. Only alive with magic.

Lucius played with his own small campfire flame right beside them, fidgeting with his art to curtail his angst, no doubt.

“Drink it too fast, and I think you’ll Dun Dun your pants, aha!” Flint laughed at his own joke.

“Shh.” Alan hid a smile. “Those Doomsayers over there are about to have their midnight duel. Don’t steal their attention.”

“You’d think they’d be tired of hurling curses at one another.” Flint snapped his tongue. “One day their faces are going to get stuck like that.”

Lucius grunted at the lightheartedness. It was like his friends represented a part of how he was feeling.

“Tomorrow, we tackle the underground tunnels of Waterloo,” Flint coached. “Right behind the calm rivers of the town square. Apparently, Hyndole sent some of his moles to pollute our streams with dark Saro.”

“No.” Lucius parted the flame into two castle walls framing his face. “We have idled enough doing charity… doing it your way. Tomorrow, we open a portal to Ojin and move to our end goal.”

Flint’s mouth remained open mid-talk.

“Don’t.” Lucius pointed hard at the Wizard. “Instead, ask your future Herald what should be done. He is, in essence, what you and I are centered around.”

Alan twisted his lips at that.

“Alright, then. Lad, leer, master of beer, what say you?” Flint’s brow relaxed.

Thoughts of his mother struggling to make ends meet pushed to the front of his mind, as did visions of Neesha crawling the pink fog mountainside looking for aid from bloody wounds. Both of those fears lead to Ojin first and foremost… not here, in Strangey Town.

Alan held out a fist toward Flint – something he’d been teaching him as a sign of brotherly love from Earth. Flint pounded it back.

“It’s time, Flint. I must honor my promises in the order I gave them. And there’s only one path forward. To Ojin.”

“Ah.” He dug the bottom of his staff against the cave ground. “Outnumbered, stoned. It seems my brethren do not see this place for what it is – a home worth defending.”

Alan’s chest softened. It’s true. In the days of restoration, getting to know the environment and the townsfolk, the zaniness of Strangey Town wasn’t without a sense of community in a time of hurt. Even the wriggling fish men stopped trying to suck on people, and instead threw healing white salt on fallen birds. The clouds pointed at bad Saro infections so the people could heal the land.

Still… this was not Alan’s home. And he could never imagine thinking of it as one. In that spirit, he took out a very valuable coin he’d been holding back so as not to rile Lucius. It was time.

“I want to show you something. When you both ran back to defend Strangey Town, a Yero-losh chased a Stone Chaser down the swamp path in Ojin where we defeated Farante.”

“Where you let him go, you mean,” Lucius scoffed.

“Quiet.” Flint burst a snowball from his staff at Flint’s chest.

Alan continued with a smirk. “Anyway, Yogi defeated the Yero and saved the Chaser. And later, we traveled to the pink fog in search for answers. What I found was a Merchant named Vidiger. A nasty, sarcastic man willing to sell me a death-assuring gauntlet. Yet through our rough start, I ended with a favorable trade.”

Lucius dulled the fire art to a manageable flame casting light on the coin. “What… trade?” he asked, intrigued.

Alan flipped the coin and swiped a rolled up scroll that he spread over the ground. Within the paper revealed a loose map of interlocking realms zoomed out from a high level. Blinking blue flames shimmered in separate parts around the map to reveal the locations of Pegs of Fate.

Lucius skulked closer, tilting his head as his brain registered what was happening. Then he unleashed his own fiery map. The one he revealed to Alan on his first day in Strangey Town. “This is…”

Alan waved his hand, magically zooming into Ojin – the largest of the realms by far – going closer, and closer to reveal a Peg of Fate in motion. “A living map.”

Lucius scratched away his fiery conjuring in shock. “How did you—”

“What good is a map to a stationary Merchant who only seeks to enchant? I’ll tell you.” Alan smirked. “No good at all. The parties who would be interested – primarily Stone Chasers – aren’t exactly ripe with loot. I offered my Yero’s horns for this and the Bubble of Vosh. Now, my friend, we have a way to the Peg Hyndole mentioned, and we can see just how full of shit he is.”

Lucius laughed triumphantly and clapped his hands together. “Incredible, Alan! Progress.”

Flint puckered his lips. “So quick to trust the hand of a dark god, Lucius. I worry about your naivety.”

“Says you, Wizard, basing your entire life on a frog’s belch.”

“Flint.” Alan held a hand up to stave off Lucius. “This is the path,” he said calmly. “We’re going to track down the Merchant of the Five Pearls and retrieve Yineera’s lost Peg. And one day, when I’ve fulfilled my promises in my Origin World, I will return.”.

Flint turned away. “After all you witnessed in the clairvoyant visions,” he whispered his disappointment. “You would run. Both of you.” He snapped back to hold their gaze. “We need you now more than ever. Hyndole is pushing the limits, invading without activating the rules of realm war.”

Alan remained silent. The guilt ate a hole through him.

“There is more than one realm at stake.” Lucius rose to full height, eyeing the Doomsayers hurling curses at one another. “My time in this prison is at an end. Home, calls.”

Lucius’ conviction sent goosebumps down Alan’s arms.

“And if you abandon us now, there may be no Origin Realms to return to.” Flint rose face-to-face with Lucius.

Alan again did what he could to calm his friends, resting a Green Saro hand on each of them. “We will find answers on our journey, and only then will a decision be made. I need you both.”

Flint’s cheek twitched. “Of course. With Hyndole now laying eyes on you, who knows what he will throw in Ojin. You need guardians of all Saro on your side.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at Flint. “Good. Then we leave in the morning. I have one hand in to Mujungo on the south side of Flappy Fin tunnel in Waterloo. We will use that to open a portal of Ojin.”

“It will be unstable,” Flint warned.

“Good thing we have a map,” Lucius hissed.

“Ojin is bigger than your little dream to run home, Lucius,” Flint snapped.

“Nonetheless, we’re going.”

After another hour of arguing logistics, and one Doomsayer writhing on the floor from some forced nightmare, all of the camps waved out their fires, leaving Alan to remain in his meditation.

It was a state of half-sleep and guided dreams that made him remember times of comfort with Trish. The memories were so vivid that he forgot the arrow of time for hours. Back then, before she walked out on him, they shared endless nights wrapped in a baby-blue blanket watching Pawn Stars and other valuing shows. She was in awe of his breadth of history. It made him feel empowered to be revered, even if the weight of such reverence was trivial.

He applied it to now – how his trances painted him a fat picture of the universe. Little-by-little, he gained knowledge to defend his position here. He was beginning to mold into something great… only to leave it all behind?

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When Alan’s eyes sprung open, Stalkers were fastening their armor for a new day, and Lucius watched over him with his arms folded. Well, he seemed annoyed at Flint – who lay sprawled over the cave ground and a sleep-bubble expanding with his breath.

“He’s stalling,” Lucius growled.

“Or maybe your armor drained him in the night.” Alan smiled knowingly at him.

“What do you know of my armor?” Lucius arced an eyebrow.

“Enough to be concerned.” Alan got to his feet and gently nudged Flint.

He snorted a few times before bursting awake. “Shnelripity!” he shouted gibberish. “Oh, oh, excuse me kind Stalkers. I forget myself at times. Reminds me of my mage days back in Rolayos – my Origin World.” He dusted off his robes, tapped around the air, and instantly summoned a fresh pair that replaced the old. “All ready, friends. No need to fret. No need to grumble.” He outstretched his arms and marched toward the cave entrance, waving at the early morning bar patrons on his way out.

The Strangey Town sun shined abnormally bright today. Warriors on crutches and wrapped in bandages were on early morning walks with their caretakers, the fissures in the sky seemed less frequent, and the clouds whistled with crazed eyes. Alan was properly terrified, which must’ve meant things were getting back to normal here.

“No games, Wizard,” Lucius warned.

“I will honor Alan’s wishes. Lead the way to the tunnels.”

After ten minutes of traveling south along the riverside, Lucius crossed his arms and hopped feet first into the open-mouthed grass. His entrance made a shlump sound like he’d just been swallowed. Flint waved his staff in a circle on the ground, making the mouth giggle as icy mist sprinkled off it. “Goochi, goochi, goo.” He laughed and leapt in.

I hate this place, Alan thought, peering over the open mouth. After a second of trepidation, Flint’s hand emerged and wrapped around Alan’s ankle to pull him in.

A dark tunnel with a child-like voice singing “la—la—la—la, lalala,” kept repeating over and over, followed by hair-raising giggles that echoed like they were sliding down an endless esophagus. Alan covered his ears as best he could, Flint’s staff and Lucius’ molten-slit armor the only sources of light.

They flew off the end of the slide, onto flat ground that was mushy like lasagna. Long, glowing lines that behaved similar to caterpillars arced from one part of the ceiling before digging into another.

“Wow!” a child’s voice blared every time a colorful caterpillar revealed itself.

“Guys, get me out of here,” Alan begged. “Reminds me of my first day.”

“This is how you know Mujungo is doing better,” Lucius assured, then began tapping away at the air.

“What’s the task?” Flint asked.

“I need to yank a blue slitherpole that the tunnel doesn’t recognize.” Lucius rolled his eyes. “One more to hand-in.”

“Which should activate the portal?” Alan asked.

“With Flint’s help, yes.” Lucius eyed different parts of the ceiling, following the child’s voice. “During unstable events, you need a Wizard’s touch to keep a portal open long enough to slip through.”

“I am useful, look at me.” Flint waved his staff around, trying to help speed along the process.

“Is a portal’s potency measured on distance?” Alan asked. “Is that why we need Pegs of Fate to travel far to our Origins?”

Flint puckered his lips. “I wouldn’t think in terms of space when dealing with portal magic, Alan. Think in terms of world relevance. Strangey Town is linked to Ojin. Ojin is linked to all of the gods’ realms. And our Origins? They aren’t even a spawned thought to any of the magical essence here. Saro doesn’t exist in our worlds, only distant remnants of it. Ah! Look, Lucius, there!”

“No, the tunnel acknowledged that one.” Lucius cursed. “Listen instead of yap, Wizard.”

“But you said you were a mage at home?” Alan questioned. “Surely mages use magic.”

“Aha! There? My home? We made do with an off-shoot, grossly perverted and infinitely sloppy version of Saro magic. You had to burst blood vessels in your temples just to get a fraction of what we have here. Oh, ho, boy, when I awoke in Strangey Town? I knew this was a true blessing.”

“But… didn’t you have people you left behind?” Alan dared to ask.

Flint’s face dropped for a moment, and Alan was pretty sure he caught a sigh. “No, Alan. I didn’t leave anyone behind.”

Heat flushed Alan’s cheeks. He didn’t mean to evoke solemnness. He just wanted Flint to relate with Lucius’ and his plight. “I’m sorry, friend. I didn’t mean—”

“Do not fret, my dear Merchant. You couldn’t have known.” Flint waved his staff in hopes to evoke some slitherpoles.

Alan cleared his throat. “So, the Peg of Fate makes our Origins relevant?”

“Such is how the legend goes,” Lucius said.

“You Chasers must beware, that the Peg’s revealing of your Origin World doesn’t disrupt it. Or worse, allow a Rift Maker to invade.” Flint raised his eyebrows.

Alan clenched his jaw at the warning, while bearing in mind Flint desperately wanted him to stay where he was.

“Aha!” Flint dove high at a blue slitherpole, before the tunnel could giggle, and tossed its wriggling shiny body into Lucius’ grasp.

As soon as the Stalker’s gauntlet clenched around it, Lucius went into a momentary daze to acknowledge Mujungo’s prompt, then a small budding portal formed at his back. “Quick Flint, direct it.” He stepped aside.

“To the Peg?”

“No.” Alan narrowed his eyes. “Not yet.”

“No more detours!” Lucius pointed angrily at the two of them.

“One last one. A relevant one. I must know if Neesha is alright.”

“No!”

“Lucius, if she’s alive, she’ll know of the forbidden shops we seek. Trust me,” Alan said calmly.

Flint eyed them while holding his staff forward – arms shaking. He took Lucius’ silence as a sign to proceed. “Describe her, Alan.”

“Large robes. Green Saro, petite frame. She’s a Healer turned Stone Chaser. Always on the run.”

Flint gritted his teeth. “How active is her Saro?”

“What do you mean?” Alan asked.

“Potency. Is she powerful or weak?” Flint’s entire body trembled as fog spewed from the portal. First it was yellow, then grey, then Alan’s heart stalled when he saw pink.

He was frightened that the portal would remain there… and that Neesha’s corpse would lay sprawled amidst it.

“Alan!” Flint called.

Is she powerful? Her Saro was dormant for so long, but… her healing was much more soothing than the ward Healers in Strangey Town.

“I’m going with potent,” he said. “A dormant fire roared to life.”

“That’s good.” Flint’s cheek flinched, sweat dripping down his temples. “Yes… I’ve got something.”

Alan held his breath, hoping the fog would change.

“Was she with anyone? There’s another presence—”

Could be one of the raid members…

“Alan, I can’t hold it much longer! I have a Yellow Saro presence alongside a Green.”

“Gregorian… Yes!” Alan said.

The tip of Flint’s staff glowed so blindingly bright, he wondered whether there’d be a White Saro blizzard exploding out of it soon.

“There. I have it. Go!” Flint exclaimed. “Hurry!”

Lucius scoffed and skulked through. Alan grabbed Flint by the robes and dragged him in.

The three of them fell into a foggy plain of sprouting mist. It was impossible to wade through the thickness, but one thing was for sure… they were falling, fast.

Spurts of wind slowed their fall for seconds at a time, making Alan’s stomach fly into his chest, until Flint grasped his arm and created an icy sled for them to ride.

“Lucius?” Alan shouted over the winds.

“The man glides better than he walks. My aide would only insult him, worry not!” Flint smiled.

“Is the fog clear for you?” Alan asked next, still falling fast on a downward angle.

“No one ever has good reason to be in the middle of a dark grey ocean, Alan.”

“What?”

As soon as Flint said the words, Alan’s circumference of vision expanded to massive waves consuming one another not far below him, and wooden stakes sticking high out from below like rotten teeth.

Flint blew up the top of his staff – creating a puff of mist that steered the sled in between two of the stakes. Alan squinted, noticing a familiar indicator – a ball of white wind. “Slipstreams?”

“This is no ordinary path, Alan. We’re in the mouth of a Siosh right now. If it decides to awaken, an inward tornado will suck us straight into its stomach before we’ve had a chance to hug goodbye. Aha! Aha!”

“This man is mad, Alan,” Durger sounded terrified.

“As mad as a sculptor thinking his clay should come to life!” Flint whacked the slipstream with his staff and guided his sled under it. “Aha!”

Alan held on tight to the edge of the sled as it whipped hard to one side. “Whoa. Flint!” He pointed to the next rotten tooth they were headed straight for.

“Hold onto your coins, my boy!” Flint pressed on his hat and jerked the sled hard to the side, then burst his staff under the sled to lift it momentarily over the slipstream and avoid a rising tooth.

Gurgling sounds rattled through Alan’s bones, and the waves crashing all around didn’t help. He grasped his Bubble coin tightly, just in case. The sled jerked again to another side when three rotten teeth sprouted through a wave, followed by an uneasy growl – as if the beast was having a deep nightmare.

With a wave of his staff, Flint froze their feet to the sled and swung them into a barrel roll – a corner of ice breaking off from being impaled by the tooth.

“Darkening Bollybobs!” Flint cursed, twirling his staff in rotations above him – charging it into blinding brightness once more.

“What is it?” Alan shouted over the waves.

Flint grimaced, peering over his shoulder.

The wind was picking up… and now, it was all moving in one direction – down.

A whirlpool formed rapidly below them, the suction dragging Alan off-balance. He folded forward to hug the front edge of the sled, thankful his feet were essentially glued down, as the wind nearly pulled him right off. His boots felt loose from the vacuum, fingertips flexing to hang on.

“Looks like it’s waking, Flint!”

“Hold on, my boy! The timing must be perfect.”

A thousand thoughts raced through Alan’s head. They could no longer use Mujungo as their lifeline – the god was disoriented from the realm invasion. If they fell here… it was over. The prophecies, the journey home, all of it would be over, and he’d be both literally and figuratively spiraling further away from sanity.

More teeth reared from the ocean waves, revealing the enormity of the beast. Larger than anything he’d ever seen in Ojin – even in the frog visions.

“Flint!”

“I know!”

Their cheeks flapped wildly, the expanse of the Siosh’s mouth becoming all-consuming. Corroded purple skin emerged at the center of the whirlpool, revealing dancing wooden teeth cycling water like oars.

Mortality washed over Alan again like a cold shower, followed by a hard coating of Red Saro. Time slowed for an instant – his wizardly friend’s expression determined, the beast below revealing the black hole at the center of its open mouth.

Death, it seemed, was certain. Red Saro told him his Bubble of Vosh would do nothing but be consumed along with all other matter. Orange Saro would evaporate in a heartbeat. Green healing would do nothing to a pair of torn bodies. But the White… the White could intervene.

Saro more powerful than Alan could muster.

“Aha!”

Time sped up.

Flint reeled back his arm at the peak of his conjuring and whipped his staff hard toward the center of the whirlpool. It whistled like a bomb – the Siosh’s inhaling winds pulling it faster.

Then a moment of silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Chsrrsh. The collision sounded more powerful than it looked, until White Saro ice clawed from the point of impact outward, freezing the whirlpool in place.

The newly formed sheet of ice rapidly caved inward, choking sounds reverberating through the entire ocean, before a belch exploded them high into the air.

“Holy!”

Dark grey fog grew thicker the higher they climbed. Spinning and flipping. There was no shortage of whips.

It took almost a full minute, but the sled finally leveled onto a manageable downward trajectory, Alan’s vision struggling to reorient.

“Mhm.” Flint nodded, licking his finger and holding it high in the air. “I’ve got us. Southwest to the nearest cliff. Tally ho!” He burst his staff to steer them, all while Alan coughed the dryness out of his throat, doing his best not to vomit.

He looked shockingly at Flint, then laughed.

“You still have your hat.”

“I do, don’t I!”

The laughter continued, relief and disbelief wrapped into one.

“I don’t know about you, Alan, but my home world never provided adventure like this.” Flint peered over to him sadly, not wanting him to go.

Alan frowned.

“You, Flint Degoba, are a Wizard who gulped down one too many tinctures! I never in all my years—”

“A man trapped in a dagger challenges my decisions? Aha!” Flint pointed. “Land ho, my friends! No need to squabble.”

The thickness of the fog dissipated slightly to reveal a high cliff that waves clawed to reach. It reminded Alan of the raid leader who was crippled by that glove Vidiger tried to trade him. But the thought was brief… because ahead he noticed two figures hand-in-hand peering into the depths.

He squinted to make them out, then his breath caught in his chest.

A female… oversized robes, pink nose, and beautiful blue eyes.

Neesha… holding hands with… Gregorian?