He wasn’t sure this was such a good idea... If he disappeared, nobody would know. Then again, he had already disappeared, hadn’t he?

Jack shifted anxiously in his seat as he waited for his host to arrive.

He had insisted on meeting Valerian in a neutral place, but he had been informed that his Lordship never left his fortress. If he wanted to meet his Lordship, he would have to come to him.

It was a bleak prospect.

The structure was huge and felt more like a prison than a fortress. Its walls rose fifty feet in the air, gray and devoid of windows. Though once inside he had realized it surrounded a large courtyard, while the fortress proper sat at its center.

Walking through that court had been an odd experience. There were people there, kneeling or seating or crouching... all of them kept lowering their heads to the ground, chanting or muttering prayers that only made sense to them.

The other thing he noted was all of them looked in the direction of the fortress, no matter where they sat.

A young girl, named Liss, had taken him inside.

“Our master will see you shortly,” she had said timidly. “Please wait here.”

He coughed as he looked around the room. It was comfortable enough, but he had been sitting here for thirty minutes now and was growing restless.

Did the mask mean so little to this Valerian?

The door swung open and he jumped to his feet as a tall thin man with pale skin and long red hair—that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks—stepped in with a haughty expression. There were red marks under his eyes and lips.

“You are Jack Arnett?” he asked.

“I am.”

“And I am your Lord Valerian,” he said as he looked Jack up and down with some disgust. “You have the mask?”

“I do.”

The expression on the creature’s face turned to a mixture of glee and greed.

“Show it to me!”

“You misunderstood. I have it, as in it is in my possession, not as in it is on my person right now.”

Valerian frowned. “What?”

“I did not bring it,” Jack explained more simply.

The Zendaar howled. “Why are you wasting my time? Did you not want your money? I would have given you all the gold in the world, you fool!”

Jack quirked a brow. “That is not the price I ask.”

“What, then?” asked Valerian impatiently. “I will give you whatever you wish.”

“I want to be like you.”

Valerian blinked. Squinted. “Like me? What is this? A riddle? I don’t have time for riddles!”

“Immortality is the price,” Jack said softly as he scratched his neck.

The would-be god stared at him, then laughed.

“You? Puny little thing? You want to be immortal? That is so arrogant!”

“Very well,” said Jack as he started toward the door.

“Wait!”

He paused. “Yes?”

Valerian paced. “Very well. If that is what you want in exchange for the mask, then that is what you will have. Now, give it to me!”

“You forget, I did not bring it.”

Valerian went into a rage. “Why do you waste my time?” he repeated as he threw a chair into the air. It crashed against the wall and broke into a thousand splinters.

Liss, who had brought Jack into the room, appeared at the door with a worried expression.

“Is everything alright, your Lordship?”

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“No!” he yelled at her. “Everything is NOT alright. Does it look like everything is alright? And where is Valins? Go fetch him, you twit!”

The girl pressed her forehead to the floor.

“You disposed of him last night, your Lordship. His body still dangles on a pike at the entrance of the kitchen, to remind us all poor mortals of how merciful you are toward those who do not anger you.”

“Exactly right,” groaned the Zendaar as his gaze returned to the historian.

Jack gulped between two coughs.

“I will consider your offer,” he said as he hurried through the door.

Valerian screamed again as Jack rushed out, and he heard the sound of another chair breaking against the wall.

***

Over the years, he had traveled from world to world, lending his powers to those most in need. They called him Zermond the Hermit, because he had no home and always journeyed alone.

People had often asked him how he did the things he did. He never knew how to answer. He had never had a teacher; he had never attended a school or a workshop; he had never read books or studied magic in any other way. To him, it was more like an instinct.

But attempting to explain any of that would invariably lead to blank stares, at best; or confused looks, at worse. How could you “just know” how to do magic? It was a crazy notion for people.

Truthfully, it sounded crazy to him too, when he stopped to think about it.

Why was he the way he was?

There had to be an explanation.

Over the years, he had started to question what he had never questioned.

Sure, he had wondered, as a child, where he came from and who his parents were. But it had been more a fantasy than an obsession.

It was only when he tried to understand the source of his powers that it had become an obsession. Because if nothing else could explain his abilities, then surely his origins could.

Paul signaled the bartender to serve him another shot.

“You’ve already had five, wassab,” reminded him the android.

“And I’ll have another five, thank you.”

He hated when those things tried to sound smart. What did they think they were? Human? Ha!

His eyes drifted to the giant TriVid screen that showed footage of the earthquake in Naleq. It was the first major natural disaster the planet had known in twenty years.

He grabbed the glass as soon as it was filled and downed it in one swig. Slamming it back down on the counter, he stared at the bartender and pointed at the empty glass expectedly.

Those answers were so close... He’d finally tracked down his mother, but she had thrown him out like a rag! How was he ever going to understand anything now?

The droid gave him a disapproving look—annoying machine!—but served him nonetheless.

He then asked himself if he didn’t already have the answer? His Zendaar blood must be the reason. What else could it be? That had to be it! His father was likely another one of those awful, arrogant, would-be gods. He was probably better off not knowing him.

He certainly wished he’d never met her.

The new shot was downed as quickly as the previous, and again he demanded another.

And another after that.

Then another.

And it went on all night long...

***

On the other side of the planet, on the continent of Renqara, there was a coastal town called Vasqulliq.

It was morning there when the young Suranne arrived at the diner to begin her shift.

She knew she would work long hours, as it was a holiday, and those were always the busiest days of the year.

After greeting her co-workers, she put on her uniform and stepped out of the building to set up the tables on the terrace.

The diner had been built on the shore and had a beautiful view over the sea, with its own private beach. It was a popular venue for both tourists and the local population.

It was getting hot. Despite the early hour, the sun was already hitting the terrace at full force. She decided to open the parasols.

As she did so, she noticed something unusual from the corner of her eye.

Her hands froze midway and she frowned as her gaze turned toward the sea.

The water was receding.

She had never seen anything like it.

Tourists were arriving on the beach. Some pointed at the water, laughing.

Someone called out to her: “Hey! This is pretty cool. Does it always do this here?”

She did not respond.

Her mind was trying to process the information.

It felt significant.

There was something in her—like the missing piece of a puzzle—, something she had read a long long time ago but that she could not remember for the life of her. Something she felt could explain this.

And suddenly, things clicked. It all came back to her.

Her eyes grew wide, and a scream came out of her mouth.

“RUN!”

No one paid her no mind.

Those that heard her just cast weird looks in her direction, wondering why the crazy lady was yelling.

But she did not wait to see their reactions.

Forget the parasols. Forget the terrace. Forget the diner. Forget it all. She was running for dear life.

She ran through the restaurant screaming, “Get out of here! Run! Hurry! It’s coming!”

Her colleagues stared at her, wondering what had gotten into her.

There was a sound, then. A distant rumble. It was unusual. Something none of them had ever heard. It became louder, too.

Some realized it came from the sea.

They went to look and saw a huge wave rushing toward the shore.

Larger than any they had ever seen.

So large it would, with certainty, crush the diner and everyone in it.

Nor would it stop there.

It would wage a path of destruction on its way, obliterating most of the city in its wake.

Another sound came, then. Another strange one. Though this one came from the sky.

The few who heard it over the thundering of the incoming tsunami lifted their heads but saw nothing there.

As the wave hit the beach, it swiped off the screaming tourists, crashed into the diner—destroying it utterly, in one single strike, a structure that had taken years to build—and rushed toward the busy streets of Vasqulliq.

It was then that a man appeared, out of nowhere.

A good-looking fellow, in his thirties, with a small nose, and a small scar above his right brow.

He stood there in the midst of the raging winds and the wave’s onslaught, unperturbed.

He lifted a hand, closed his eyes, and...

It was like a bubble had formed around him. At first, the winds would drape around it, but slowly they stopped passing through, as if the bubble had grown and erected a barrier.

And then, strangely, inexplicably, the wave receded—just like the water had earlier.

Except, this time, it did not mark the beginning of a disaster, but its ending.