Alan stepped through the portal to his realm with a head full of prompts, not even granted a moment to appreciate the beautiful landscape he’d sculpted before the war.

The small army of Brack refugees awed within it.

Dammit, this is a lot. He held his head, knowing there’d be a thousand questions coming his way at any second. He needed to gather his thoughts, so he flipped out a minion worthy of the task.

Ting!

The golem stomped hard over the grass.

“Cover me with your shield, Figro. I need a minute.” Alan winced. “No one is to enter.”

“It will be done.” Figro draped his massive shield sideways, casting out the brilliant sunlight and everyone else looking for direction.

Alan shut his eyes and dealt with the prompt front and center:

Admission of seven hundred sixty warriors to the realm of Alan Right.

*Requirement—Designate a name for your realm. Some examples of previously named realms are listed below:

Castlenova

Strangey Town

Scar’s Light

Alan squeezed his eyes shut. Seven hundred? Brack’s population is in the thousands. How many did we leave behind?

The prompts started rattling so hard his head vibrated.

“Okay! Okay!”

“Okay” is not a recommended realm name. Though it is unique in phonetics, it conveys mediocre status and might make the land susceptible for takeover—

Alan sighed. “I wasn’t suggesting that be the name… How about, House of Alan?”

Although hubris is a common trait amongst realm owners, it is not recommended to imprint the owner’s name into the realm. Historically, this practice has led to genocide of the realm’s citizens when the land is seized and overtaken.

Alan’s eyes widened. “Jeez. Point taken. Um. How about Token Inn? A place where all walks of life can build and trade to their hearts content.”

The decision is ultimately yours. I am merely a guide to new realm owners bestowed by Ultimus Denoms. The name “Token Inn” would be perfectly adequate with a reasonable play on words… if the universe wasn’t at war.

Alan gritted his teeth. “Well then I’ll change it later if I have to. Look around, I have matters to tend to.”

Changing realm names is not a particularly revered practice, since it suggests instability in the realm’s oversight.

Since Alan could remember, he wanted a shop of his own. On Earth it would’ve been a pawnshop. Here? The possibilities were endless. Thoughts of ancient weaponry, rare essence, all of Ojin’s majesty exchanging hands… it grew into a dream that may now very well be realized. So long as the Red Pact didn’t win.

Hmm the prospect of an inn might be misleading, though. Alright, got it.

“It’s decided. Token.”

He already spent months molding the landscape to be amenable to large crowds if the time ever came. And now it had… in a bittersweet sort of way.

Very well.

Requirement— Since the threshold of one hundred visitors has been crossed, Ojin entryways must be established immediately.

“I need time,” Alan protested. “What happens if I don’t establish the points of entry.”

Mass transport will be unattainable.

“I see that as a win. No need for armies to be rushing into my realm unannounced.” Alan waved away the prompts. “Thank you Figro.”

The shield lifted to show hundreds of distraught faces reflecting the realm’s sunlight, all waiting for Alan to speak—his group front and center among them.

Alan drew his dark blade and swiped out his souls to stand beside him. Everyone should hear what he had to say. Durger immediately shed a tear for his home realm, yet did his best to stand tall.

“All of you. Please, listen.” He scanned the solemn faces. “Dark times lie ahead. Jaeger of Hozzod has declared war, and I traveled to Hightower Brack in hopes your once steadfast god would honor his alliance against him. Instead, my worst fears were realized. Betrayal of the worst kind, at your expense.” He sighed. “We stand against a cunning and swift enemy. One that Junos has agreed to join in hopes to conquer the universe. That is why he depleted your reverence to zero… so when the time came, he would reign over servants instead of govern over free warriors.”

Chatter broke out, but Alan kept on.

“It pains me that we left many behind in Hightower Brack. Even though Junos failed us, that does not mean we’re alone. Far from it.” He outstretched his hand to Flint. “Strangey Town is our ally. My realm is your home—whether it temporary or permanent. And the Royal Horde is on deck to receive us. Spread the word. Unlikely Guds will triumph over the Red Pact. And it starts here!” He drew his blood-vision edge double-staff and staked it into the ground.

For a moment, the crowd seemed less lost, and more determined.

“What of those still trapped in Brack?” a knight called with a shaky voice, blood stained over his gauntlet.

“We will arrange an operation to retrieve them. You have my word.” Alan nodded. For once he didn’t mind being indebted to someone. If nothing else, he was beginning to understand it was an occupational inevitability as a Merchant.

“Another promise of necessity?” Itsy folded her arms with a smirk.

“That’s exactly what this is.” Alan summoned Voltair and held up his dark blade. “Come. I’ve built a cove with an endless hearth one mile out, and three mountain lodges up the closest hill. Let’s get everyone settled so we can assess the situation and strategize our next steps.”

Alan galloped ahead as the decorated warriors drew feathers of various beasts to summon their mounts—some flying and some ground—all following him down the manicured pastures. He’d watched movies of Tuscan hills and recalled scenic hikes in his home state. That’s what he tried to mimic in Token when he built them.

A gentle breeze combed through Alan’s hair as Voltair’s flaming hooves refused to burn the grass. A bright sun that came standard in the realm rose a little brighter than he remembered from Earth. No emoting clouds, no malicious butterflies. This was home. And now he was filling it.

Madam Mar dislodged a platform of dirt to carry his closest friends and enemy beside him. Lucius sat cross-legged with a smirk on his face.

“You’ve been busy,” the prince said. “Tell me what it’s like to abandon your Origin and stake a flag so brazenly in your second life?”

Alan’s throat ran dry. Lucius still had a way of guilting him even after all that he’d done. He could’ve dignified the prince with a response along the lines of setting up that paradise for when his loved ones passed from their first life… but he remained silent instead. According to Neesha, Lucius’ wife was dragged under. There was no reincarnation for her, if the stories were true.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

The guilt instantly tugged at thoughts of Trish dragging him to a dinner with him mom and sister. He wasn’t in the mood that day… but what he wouldn’t give just to relive that memory in the real.

Actually no. Reliving the memory in his old body would be nothing but a downer. Alan’s mother and ex-girlfriend would’ve lectured him a hundred times over before the appetizers even showed. To them, Alan was wasted potential—barely able to make a buck, a failure to society.

If they could see him now…

Their jaws would hang open witnessing him rescue a realm from a crazed god. The idea was so outlandish their heads would explode.

I’m a long way from doing nothing with my life, Trish. A long goddamn way…

Whack!

Neesha smacked her prisoner upside the head. “Don’t listen to the mad prince of Cerrain. This is incredible, Alan.” She surveyed the plains.

“All possible because of the oath I kept to Yogi. Look what staying true to your friends could do for you here, Lucius.”

He grumbled and turned away.

“Aha, indeed a more peaceful vision than the town they call strange.” Flint smiled.

“If only it could remain that way.” Alan peered at them, holding onto his reins. “Madam, I’m going to need a watcher if we’re going to survive this.”

“Then you will build me a fine tower so I can do my bidding.” Mar stood proudly at the head of her flying dirt patch, like the captain of some gaudy ship.

The declaration made Alan smile. If you could see me now…

A cove of brown clay flickered with the flames of a hearth deep inside it. He modeled it after the Stalker’s cove in Strangey Town if he was being honest, only less of the scoffing angry grumps and dueling Doomsayers inside. It was large enough to house hundreds in a camping grounds sort of way. He conjured beds of finely spun cloth out of stray essence and spread them among the floor.

He then spun on his horse to address all of the approaching warriors. “For those of you who think you’d be comfortable in here, please make yourselves at home. For the rest, follow me to the mountain lodges. I know you’re used to castles and clay homes, but hopefully these will do just as well for now.”

“To Alan!” One warrior raised his spear.

“To Alan!” Others followed.

“In another life, you might’ve made a fine prince.” Lucius scoffed.

“This is the other life.” Alan’s disdain grew. “The one you lost your way.”

Next, he trekked up the mountain alongside the remaining four-hundred-or-so warriors, dropping loads of them off at the various ski-lodges modeled after the one his dad took him too when he was younger. The wooden constructions were tucked against the rock, magically fastened in ways that didn’t make architectural sense. That was the blessing for gaps in Earth knowledge. Essence could work as impossibly powerful facets or glue. Mold impossible shapes in minutes. This was Alan’s gift from the Borai. Something he’d cherish forever.

As Alan watched the warriors settle from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, he took comfort in seeing relief on some of their faces. Mother Balooma would approve of his use of her gifted realm. He knew it for sure.

He told the groups to meet at twilight one mile due south, at a tent with a giant golden-coin centered flag atop it. That should give him enough time to make Madam Mar a tower.

Alan ignored Lucius for the remainder of his rounds, then summoned Ara with his gryphon feather to faster climb to the top of a golden-dirt mountaintop. Mardonnus flew close behind.

“New realm creations are quick,” he shouted to the wind.

“Not with the Saro etchings I need, grand Merchant.” Mar smirked. “But we will make do, I’m sure.”

Once they made it to the top, Alan patted Ara and dismounted to look over a scenic hill showing a great valley with crystal sparkling springs far below. It pained him to think of Hyndole tearing a portal in the sky to corrupt it all.

But that wouldn’t be today.

After a deep steeling breath, he turned with determination in his heart. “Come Flint, I think you’ll like this part.” He recalled his months of molding when he nearly lost himself. The feeling was tempered with the fear of invasion now. He couldn’t dally or submerge himself into creation. Every action had to have a purpose. And this one was to gain himself a watcher—like the talking trees in Strangey. He needed an eye into Ojin that could defend from incoming threats. It was essential to building an alliance.

He reached deep into his powers over the realm, envisioning a tower of great stone—starting with Sauron’s from one of his favorite movies, then lightening it with random golden bricks. As his hands glowed with variant god-like Saro, a tornado of essence swirled from the ground up, laying bricks over bricks, hardening mist to solid stone.

“By the stars of Gable, Alan.” Flint awed, his gaze rising with the construction.

“They say if I accepted godhood, I could build a whole city in seconds.” Alan kept his eyes shut, visualizing every section of his tower, trying to taper it similar to Mardonus’ in Brack.

Once the bones were up, Alan waved everyone inside, fixing sconces of miniature Orange Saro and walls as he paced, carving out windows just by thinking it.

“A fine construction, Alan. May I?” Madam Mar started borrowing Saro from inside the tower, creating levitating stones that clashed against one another. Ripping out sections at a time to create open rooms and etched maps. “A Dreamcatcher must dream, my dear.”

And that they did for the better part of the next four hours. Flint used his White to hold structures temporarily in place so Alan could lift the tower’s top half one story up at Mar’s request. She etched strange symbols into each floor, humming as she worked, testing portal windows for potency.

“Once this is all up and running, we must locate Elkire. If I’m to be the realm’s eye, then they are to be its wings. Come. To the top of the spire.”

Madam Mar led them as if she constructed the tower herself, waving her net in the air, testing Saro auras. “Your powers are teeming, Alan.”

“Yet I wouldn’t survive one blow against Junos’ sword,” Alan countered.

“That theory had not been tested,” Mar didn’t sound convinced. “Though I would not test it on a whim, either.”

“Happy you feel that way,” Alan chuckled.

They toiled for another hour, getting the particulars of her high spire in order. Wooden frames were filled with multi-color essences that Mardonnus tried to mold as windows to the outside.

“Ack. These connectors are all scrambled.” Mar scoffed, whipping her sappy cape.

“Sorry. That might be partially my fault. I haven’t set Ojin gateways yet,” Alan said. “Was hoping that would block entire armies from marching right in.”

“Mm. Mm. I see.” Mar tapped her chin. “Truth be told, since the war declaration all portals have been acting astray. Give me some time. Perhaps Elkire will be able to hone in on my signal.” She took a deep breath and shut her eyes.

An hour or so later of pacing, static grew louder.

“Madam!—”

A familiar voice sent Alan’s gaze straight for one of Mar’s windows. The Saro frame was going haywire with variant colors.

“Hold still.” Mardonnus swished her net around, trying to stabilize the window. “Hmm. Skalidins! Stabilize dammit!”

Twenty shades of blue flickered to pink, then green, until finally with a pulse of white, the image phased into view. “Madam! And… by the gods, Alan?” Elkire’s face bounced up and down as his gryphon tried to keep him level in the air. “I see you have that pesky Stalker in your midst to. Do you plan to send him flying off a cliff to his black-blooded depths? Is that why you ring us?”

Alan scratched the back of his head. “It’s good to see you Elkire.”

“Likewise, lad. Strange, the landscape of Madam’s tower looks… different?”

“I presume you haven’t had communications with Brack, then,” Mardonnus spoke gravely.

“Afraid not. And worse. The Legion of Fate scouted up to the Crimson of Exou—”

“Hey Alan!” Tenger leaned into Elkire’s gryphon’s space, and earned a playful whack from its wing.

“Hey Tenger.” Alan waved, then peeked grumpy Irana on his other side. “Hey Irana.”

“Merchant.” She offered a quick nod.

“Not the time for pleasantries.” Elkire straightened unbearably high. “A troop of black-armored elites march through the crimson. We have reason to believe they belong to—”

“Sar’fidius,” Alan breathed out the words, recalling the frog’s vision of Cerrain’s army.

“Yes… how did you know? They bear the mark of that nefarious realm—a rotting tree.”

Neesha clapped her hands over her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Mother. Sister.”

“We don’t know anything for sure yet, Neesha.” Alan held up a hand to calm her.

“Listen to me, Elkire. Make course for the gryphon roost beyond the mountain. An ally will escort you to our location. There, we will catch you up on all that’s transpired. Whatever you do, steer clear of Hightower Brack or any of our people.”

“Our brethren?” Elkire’s brow furrowed. “Our brethren are in danger? Say it isn’t so. Madam, we have a sacred duty.”

Mardonnus slapped the portal. “Dammit, Elkire. No one would ever question your loyalty. I’m afraid the situation calls for nuance, however. Trust your mage seeker now if ever.”

Elkire tightened his lips, staring at the window for a long moment. “Yes, Madam. Of course.”

“Good. How long until you reach the roost?”

“We are about a half day’s out, Ojin time.”

“Very well.” Mar shut her eyes, likely calculating the time passage difference. “Stay safe until we meet.”

“Hiya!” He zoomed by on his gryphon, and the visual cut out.

Itsy poked at Madam’s portal, frowning as it rippled.

“Ack!” Mardonnus slapped her finger away and grabbed her wrist, showcasing her own dirty hand to herself. “You’re dirtying the essence. Have you ever heard of a wash?”

Itsy swung out of her grasp. “Says the woman with braids down to her ankles and tree sticks holding her cape.”

“Where did you find this one, Alan?” Mar pointed her net up to Itsy’s nose.

“He negotiated for me.” Itsy tilted her head haughtily. “A sly merchant this one is. Balls the size of boulders. And a heart worth an entire realm.” She glanced at Alan, then back to Madam Mar. “Listen you lot. I like you. That show you put on to try and win a god over… something I’ve never seen before. But you’d be makin’ a grave mistake hiding here for too long. War is a race. And those armies marching out in Ojin… they’re gettin’ all the cheese.”

“The dirty one is right.” Neesha hugged a war stone, drying her tears. “We would’ve come out ahead if Junos accepted our alliance. War Titles for all, probably. But his rejection was Hyndole’s plan all along. Keeping a very powerful adversary at bay.” She gazed at Alan with sorrow.

“It is true, I think.” Flint popped snowflakes out of his staff. “Alan, our great Herald and future god of Token, is the key to this all.”

Alan shook his head. “I’m as lost as all of you.”

“You led a small army to safety,” Lucius said. “None of the others could’ve accomplished such a feat.”

“And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without any of them,” Alan grew angry at the prince chiming in. “We all have a part to play.”

“There will be no parts to play soon, Merchant,” Itsy bared her teeth.

“Now that Junos knows who’s loyal to him, I’ll bet he starts sending out armies as patrols,” Alan said. “Soon the Red Pact will claim all the key sections of Ojin. Is that your worry?”

“It is the truth. I’ve heard it with my own ears, ey? Hyndole sold a pretty picture to my brother. Now it’s up to you to sell a prettier one,” Itsy said.

Alan turned away and paced, looking over the scenic cliffs that seemed to stretch endlessly below. He thought of the warriors’ sorrow lodged up in his realm. He could feel the tone of it, like the realm was teasing godhood so he’d accept.

But he wouldn’t. He can do better as a broker.

He can.

Alan turned on them with determination in his eyes. He saw the pawnshop owner’s sorrow in each of their expressions. It won’t end in turmoil again. He reached into his pouch and flipped out Ufanda—who was all stitched back together and swaying with brighter colors than he remembered. He guessed her appearance changed now that she was in his custody.

“Madam Mar, Ufanda. You know these warriors better than anyone. Make them feel at home. Flint, keep Lucius in those shackles and watch over Token for me.”

“I’m coming with you,” Neesha protested.

“No,” Alan said. “Stay. I need all the eyes I can on such a large crowd.”

“What will you do, Alan?” Flint asked, grasping his staff with both hands in worry.

“I’m going to get us a fighting chance. We’re sitting ducks without war Titles, right? We can’t contend unless we’re part of the race. Fine.” He looked to Itsy. “You said you’d put in a good word to your god. Well, let’s go meet him.”