For a long time, Agravain lay there, his entire body ached as though he was dying.

Actually he was.

Or not.

Life and death can be uncertain, easy to confuse things, when one is in intense pain.

But slowly, and agonizingly, his dazed mind resolved the jumbled shapes in front of him into coherent images.

A big, big patch of the azure sky. An upside-down building, five-story tall. Helmeted heads were poking out of a shattered window on the highest floor.

What a fall, he thought.

Then, “Oh, I’m not actually dying.”

This being an incredible realization it sounded like, he willed himself up, half expecting he would be floating in incorporeal form over a very dead body.

But there wasn’t one. Only himself, still in pain and wobbling on his feet like someone seasick.

He felt more than strange. As though he was in someone else’s body.

Had his arms ever been so large? His chest muscles ever so pronounced?

In fact, it was not only his body that was strange. Everything in his immediate surroundings was. The gathering crowd in clothes as though out of a film set. The same strange architecture as he had seen through the windows before.

On the other hand, Agravain found himself unable to dwell overlong on those inexplicable questions.

A vague enough reason came to him. Could it be that even the fall had been his imagination?

But his confused mind couldn’t even pursue this line of thought in earnest.

Or rather, he did not feel like it.

What one sees is what one gets, why contrive reasons for the world to be what it is?

The way he saw it, this was a strange place. Strange people, strange buildings. Even the horse-drawn carriages roaming the streets were strange.

The only and simple conclusion was clear as day: he had been transported to another world.

Yup, as simple as that.

A more complicated mind would have conjured at least a dozen of rational reason for this situation.

Not he.

He did not dwell on it.

He felt vaguely that there had been some change in the way his brain worked. But he decided not to dwell on that either.

Even the wounds that had hurt like hell were nothing more than spots of discomfort now.

Strange, huh?

All on his mind was: let’s run.

The first instinctual response other than fighting.

So he ran, brushing aside the crowd that had gathered around the crater of his impact.

No one made an attempt to stop him--a large and ferocious creature covered in blood, who had just got up and run away like nothing after a fall from the fifth floor.

The air was also strange, but in a good way. It filled his lungs with a freshness more invigorating than any he had breathed before. And so he ran all the faster, and became all the gladder.

Before he knew it, Agravain was laughing out loud.

Frightened pedestrians leaped from his path, no one dared come close.

Somehow.

He felt incredible.

He felt invincible.

Bloody thoughts of the armed guards and his unpleasant encounter with them had vanished without a trace from his mind.

When finally he stopped, having got a bit bored of running, he found himself in yet another new place that looked almost like a different town, if not for such large towers that could still be seen against the skyline.

The houses were smaller, shabbier looking, the road unpaved. A district peopled with haggard looks and a wariness of strangers. Most people traveled on foot, but here and there, horse-drawn carriages of various degrees of fanciness or shabbiness roamed the streets. No automobiles, but there were ox carts and roaming dogs in every corner.

“Oi, fellow,” he grabbed the arm of someone passing by, a dirty man in worn and unclean clothes. Despite Agravain’s effort to calm him, the stranger shook violently as though in a seizure.

The folk around them averted their eyes, trying hard not to attract the same ill fortune had befallen the ragged fellow.

“I won’t hurt you, man,” Agravain said, “but tell me what this town is called.”

“It-it’s Eisherat, the Tartary capital, sir, the capital! I swear I know nothing else! Please, sir!”

“My thanks, friend.” He said, releasing the man and trying to pat his back, but the poor guy had already fled.

Agravain didn’t have the chance to ask for his name. People here treated him as though he were a runaway lion, which hurt him a bit.

An unknown place, an unknown people.

It seemed he would have to go friendless in this world as well. Estella’s soul watching over him in heaven couldn’t even catch a break in this world.

On the other hand, no one had any idea who he was. No more the scion of a wealthy house, unlikable English Professor.

No more the obligation to his houses, no more the futile endeavor to fulfill a last wish.

Agravain was a new person. A freshly born, unwritten page in the world.

All new, save, well, for the fact that he was on the run from sneaking into a young girl’s room. But just as soon as it came, he cast away the unhappy thought.

There was an opportunity here up for grabs, though an opportunity at what, he could not tell yet.

There was yet nagging thought in him that he was taking all this bizarre stuff a bit too breezily.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But, really, who cared?

Not he.

The possibilities were endless.

He wondered what else he could do. For surely there were some strange powers within him now. His strength, his endurance, his speed and other physical abilities felt positively limitless.

No obstacles too great, no walls too high. No one he could not beat in a physical fight.

What would happen if he tried to run and run again, until he dropped? Would he have completed several rounds around the globe by then?

As for the reasons behind these strange powers he also did not care to think at all. No use dwelling on things one could not know.

After musing over this for a little bit, he changed his stance, squatting down, took a breath, threw both arms behind him, then propelled his entire body in the air.

The result was disappointing.

He was not sure how high a professional athlete would have reached with such a leap, but he had not shot over a house or anything. His feet only passed the height of a tall adult man.

He was no god then.

For another test, he wandered to a larger street and walked along it until he spotted a house adequately tall. Without a care for bystanders’ increasingly wary looks, he got into the starting position of a track runner: a low crouch, one leg before another. Then he broke into a spring. After a dozen steps, he made two long leaping strides, then shot up. The wind rushed by, filling his lungs with indescribable joy. Then easily he grabbed onto the eaves of a house’s second story. And there he perched, scanning a street full of pointing folk.

It was not too bad, he thought.

His physicality could not compare to any god, but maybe a demi-god.

Which still had a nice ring to it.

Enough of that, he dropped from the house and resumed his wandering.

Even though it was liberating to start anew, too much options also means aimlessness. There were no family for him to go back to. No duty to perform.

Should he get a job, to make ends meet first thing?

It was an unfamiliar thought for him who had never had to worry about his daily bread.

Maybe something would happen soon?

Some divine intervention, most like.

Even as he thought this, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw a stranger. A youth in a shirt almost as dirty as his.

A pretty youth, Agravain considered at a closer look, who was giving him a broad and disarming smile as though they were long lost friends.

“Oh gods, how long has it been!” the youth said loudly, his voice booming for such a delicate throat. His eyes were wild.

“Do I know you?”

Almost at once the youth’s eyes turned dark. He stole a look behind his shoulder, before returning to him. The smile already vanished without a trace.

“Oh gods,” his voice was hoarse and frantic this time, as low as soft breaths, “please, I beg you, don’t say anything! Just pretend we are friends!”

Once more he stole a look behind him. This time Agravain followed his eyes, and saw a shadow just then darted out of sight into an alley.

And so, out of nowhere, Agravain had been invited for a drink. It’s the sort of thing you do with an old friend you haven’t met for a long time, it appeared: sharing a drink or two, and maybe reminiscing fond memories.

So supposedly that is how it works with fake friends too.

The youth did not hide the fact that he had no idea who, or even what, Agravain was. But if he had persisted with the idea they had known each other before, Agravain would probably have bought it too.

Stranger things had happened since morning and he was in the mood to believe everything and anything.

For now, it pleased him enough that someone had furnished a table with drinks and food at a tavern for his benefit.

The youth, who introduced himself as Iranon, after ordering a full table, disappeared briefly into the tavern’s back before returning with his face freshly clean, most of the dirt and grime washed off from his neck and hands.

It was not by any means a fancy establishment, rather a seemingly shabby place even by this world’s standards. A wineshop where peasants gathered for cheap drinks and meager foods. There were only tables and chairs enough for several large groups at most.

In this place, both the barbarian and the youth seemed out of place.

Agravain’s first impression of the youth appeared all the more striking now that they faced each other across the table. He was pretty, if in a feminine way, skin so white it approached the point of unhealthy palish, long lashes seldom seen in a man, and bright, likable eyes. If Agravain was less trusting, he would have suspected this youth to be a crossdressing woman, and who was doing a terrible job at it too.

“You have quite the appetite,” Iranon remarked with amazement as his fake friend wolfed down the food, rapidly alternating between downing the mug of ale and gnawing on a beef bone.

“A man cannot know what meal will be his last, friend.”

“That is quite philosophical of you. But certainly not a philosophy often heard in civilized parts of the world.” He smiled. A smile with a peculiar effect to soften even the most offensive remark to an innocuous jest. “Say, where do you hail from? I don’t think you’ve been in this country long?”

“Aye, my home was a less civilized land indeed. Supposedly we call it America.”

“Don’t speak when you are chewing, please. But America, eh? Truly that name rings strange to my ears.”

“If you say so. Well?” Agravain gulped another mug of ale, then asked for a refill. He did not think the alcohol was practically strong, but the effect of which had been reinvigorating. He felt better and lighter already, and was in good spirits. Though of course it was no frosty beer. “Are you going to tell me your business or not?” the barbarian asked.

“Oh right,” Iranon smiled again, this time nervously, “I was coming to that.” He leaned forward. “You see those men at the corner? A bastard who looks like he would slit your throat for just looking at him strangely, and the one with the stinky eyes? But don’t stare!”

Agravain was already staring. At a corner table sat indeed two men. One was tall, large and imposing with a broadsword at his girdle; the other smaller with his face half-shaded under a hood.

“I don’t see them.”

“You were just staring at them!”

“They look like normal fellows having a night out, Iranon. You’re being unkind.”

“Well, I’m telling you they are not. They are men of the local cutthroat lord. The kind who terrorize the neighborhood and steal from old grannies, you know? And they are after me!”

“Oh? This is gonna be a bit rude to say, but Iranon, you don’t look like you have a lot to steal from.”

Indeed, the youth had not touched a morsel on the table despite his hungry glances at the food from time to time.

“Well, they think I still have some more coins to shake off. Which, aye, that I may. One cannot be too careful, you know.”

“Is that why you approached me?”

“Aha! That’s right! You are a fearsome-looking fellow, Agravain. A genuine savage, I say. They would think twice before trying to accost me with you nearby.”

“I can’t be next to you forever though.”

“Why not? We are practically friends already!”

“Are we now?”

“Aye!” Iranon said with enthusiasm, “You may not know this because you hail from afar, but trust me, in this land, once two people have shared a meal they are already considered friends! Why, if the two are a man and a woman you may as well think of them as being in a relationship!”

“Is that so? Curious tradition, I say. But not one I dislike.”

“Aha, that’s exactly why I picked you in the first place! Master, some more ale here, please!”

Another mug down and Iranon changed his tone, lowering it to whispers now. “Well, another thing. When I said these brutes wanted to rob me, what I really meant is that they have sorta robbed me already. You see, recently, I kind of experienced some financial difficulty. And because of it these people stole from me my only tools of the trade.”

“Sad to hear, friend,” Agravain said, already digging in some more of the food bought by his new friend’s coins. “What is your trade exactly?”

“Why, I’m a musician! No pro, sadly. I have never performed on any big stage or been patronized by any wealthy men. But my music is the real deal, I tell you. It makes your heart melt, verily.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy.”

“It may not be. But it’s art. And real art is never all too healthy. At any rate, my harp, my precious harp is being held hostage by those men.”

“They stole your instrument? What use do cutthroats have for one? Is it something expensive?”

“Nay, I don’t think they are aware of its true value. At any rate, they have it now, and unless I can pay back ten crowns soon they will sell it to someone else.”

Agravain raised a brow, wagging the beef bone. “Let me get this straight, you pawned off your only means to earn money? They didn’t really steal anything from you, did they?”

“Don’t sweat the details now. Whatever is my business with them, they are people who cheat poor folk off their hard-earned coins, they impose high interests and prey on desperate people like me. Can you really stand idly by and let them do as they please?”

“That’s what I’m planning to do, friend. How they conduct their business is not my problem.”

“Oh don’t say so!” Iranon cried, reaching over the table and seizing his new friend’s hand desperately, “Are we not friends? We are friends, right? Surely you can help a friend out? Go to their boss, threaten them a little, give them a scare then tell them to return the harp to your friend. I will be gone from this city the next morn!”

“I don’t know, Iranon. That doesn’t sound like a nice thing to do. Why don’t you look for an honest job and buy back your things with hard-earned salaries? Then all the parties shall be happy.”

“Oh surely not me, I won’t be happy! I can work my ass off for the next year and still won’t be able to pay their ridiculous interests!”

“Even if you say that...”

Suddenly, Iranon released his hand and shot back on his chair, staring with widening eyes at a corner of the room.

Agravain turned. The two men from before had left their seats and were now walking towards their table.

Once more Iranon leaned over the table, pleading, “They are coming for us! You see? They don’t need a reason to beat a fellow up! Villains, they! So don’t hesitate now! Call over your barbarian friends! Teach those brutes a lesson!”

“What are you talking about? My only friend here is you, Iranon?”

“What! Are you not with the band of men camping in the outskirts?” The youth’s face had turned even paler than before, which itself was a sight to behold.

“First I’m hearing of them.”