Chapter 1

Clive had just blinked, his eyes darting quickly over his shoulder toward Bret, who was in the gleaming, shining workshop. It was the kind of place that belonged in a futuristic sci-fi novel – pristine, orderly and high-tech. But in the blink of an eye, his world came crashing down.

A sudden wave of confusion washed over him. His heart pounded in his chest like a wild animal, as though it was trying to break free from the confines of his rib cage. Thoughts raced through Clive's mind, flashing past. The disorientation was extreme. It took him long moments to piece together what he was seeing, what was happening. His mind was haze of confusion. Looking around, he realized that he was no longer in the workshop.

Instead, he was standing in a room that was a stark contrast to the modern lab he had just left. Carved stone walls enclosed the space on all sides, their uneven surfaces glistening with moisture. The scent of mold and damp filled the room. After the sterility of the lab, these unclean scents made it hard for Clive to breathe. Dim light emanated from the corners of the room. Clive's dazzled eyes could see, but not fully understand, that there were containers of burning oil there. Burning oil? Stone walls? What was happening? The flames seemed to be the only source of illumination in this strange space.

The flickering glow from the flames danced on the walls, casting looming shadows. The shadows almost seemed to reach for Clive as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. His heart was racing, everything was sudden. Everything was frightening. The darkness could contain anything. Toward the far end of the room, he could barely make out a distant, rectangular sliver of daylight. Even that seemed to terrify him. It meant the outside, an escape form this apparition of a room, but his mind couldn't settle. Everything was confusion.

Clive closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to believe that this was all just a hallucination. Was he having a stroke? Had some contaminant entered the ventilation system. Was he dying? Was he lying on the lab floor at that moment experiencing a seizure? Whatever was happening, it was certain that it was not something that could be real. With his eyes shut, he tried to picture Bret's face, the texture of his beard and the telling expression of warning that seemed etched permanently on his features. Clive held onto that image, convincing himself that when his eyes opened again, he would be back in the familiar workshop, looking at Bret.

But when Clive dared to open his eyes, the same stone room loomed before him. The light bounced from the slick, slightly shiny contours of the walls. His face curled in on itself, he could feel the urge to cry. The dim flickering glow confirmed that he was still trapped in this place. Where the hell was this? Just a moment ago he had been at work. A moment. Now, one blink later, he was here? Panic began to bubble up inside of him. He struggled to keep his breathing even, it came in short, rapid bursts. He felt like he was suffocating. This couldn't be happening. The room seemed to close in on him, the damp smell overwhelming his senses. Clive felt as if he was drowning in a sea of panic.

His eyes bulged, darting around. The panic continued to mount within him. Clive muttered to himself, "I'm losing my mind, this can't be real. What the fuck could possibly have happened? Oh God, I'm going crazy."

The cold, lifeless walls seemed to mock him in his despair, only adding to his sense of dread.

Desperate for any semblance of an explanation, Clive took a closer look at his surroundings. His eyes locked onto the rotting food in ornate bowls scattered about the stone floor, the putrid stench assaulting his nostrils. He shifted his gaze upward to find carvings on the posts supporting the oil burners, their intricate designs hinting at some sort of religious significance.

The mysterious, seemingly sacred nature of the space only served to heighten Clive's fears and questions. Where was he? How had he gotten here? Was there any hope of escaping this nightmare? In his desperation, Clive couldn't help but feel the sense of foreboding creep take a firmer grip of his heart. The fear, the panic, cast a dark shadow over any hope he had at finding answers.

Gathering every ounce of strength he could muster, Clive closed his eyes once more and took a deep, shaky breath. He muttered to himself. He said the same thing over, and over. Like a mantra, "This isn't real. There's something wrong with my mind. I have to calm down and ground myself."

Slowly, he looked down at his clothes. They were the same. The same old roughed up lab coat. The wrinkled shirt with the curry stain. If the room was an illusion, Clive thought, then maybe focusing on something familiar might bring him back to reality.

With his heart in his throat, Clive raised his head, praying that he would see something - anything - different. He wanted to see the lab again when he raised his eyes from his shirt. Yet, despite his deepest longing, the room remained unchanged. The same stone walls continued to press in on him. They felt alive.

The sense of despair threatened to overwhelm Clive again. He wanted to shake it, needed to shake it. He gathered what fortitude he could. Steeled himself. He desperately tried to force himself to remain as calm as possible. That wasn't very much.

Clive stood rooted to the spot. His mind raced as he replayed the last moments he could remember back in the workshop. He had seen Bret's worried face. His coworker's voice echoed in his head, warning him. "Be careful, Clive. The safety systems are down."

Clive had brushed off the concern easily, responding with a touch of arrogance, "Don't worry, Bret. I've done this a million times. Nothing's going to happen."

His breathing began to slow a little, still far from normal, but his racing thoughts made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. As he continued to take in the details of the stone room, tried to peer through them to reality, his ears gradually became aware of distant sounds. Echoing through the rectablge of light came the sounds of human bustle. The sounds of a crowd.

The realization that there were people nearby stirred a mixed feelings in Clive. While the distant noises seemed to suggest people, and he so desperately needed to see or hear another person, they troubled him no less than the strange room. Were these noises real? How could they be? He was standing in the lab, not a fucking stone crypt! But the light beckoned. It promised escape from his bizarre prison, as escape from the walls. From the darkness. It promised fresh air, a chance to breathe.

Taking a shaky breath, Clive began to move hesitantly toward the door. One foot. Then another trembling foot. Each step echoed in the darkness. As he crept closer, the sounds outside grew louder. It was a hum of voices. It sounded like the atmosphere of a crowded shopping mall, or a country fair.

The the smells came to him. Had they been there the whole time? Was he just? Or were they coming on the breeze through the door? He knew these smells - the unmistakable stench of horseshit mixed with the mouth-watering aroma of cooking meat. Clive tried to make sense of it all. If this was an hallucination, it was stunningly real one.

The situation felt so surreal that Clive couldn't shake the odd feeling as if he were wearing a virtual reality headset, experiencing something that couldn't possibly be real. Nevertheless, the sensations around him seemed all too tangible, leaving him with little choice but to press onward and confront the unknown waiting just beyond the door.

As Clive neared the door, the sunlight streaming through it grew more intense, practically blinding him after the dimness of the room he had just left. He squinted, trying to adjust to the brightness but also eager to catch a glimpse of what awaited him outside.

When his vision finally cleared, Clive was bombarded by the sight that unfolded before him. It was a scene seemingly plucked straight from a medieval town or a storybook like Arabian Nights. A dirt street stretched out in front of him, lined with an odd assortment of mud hovels and sturdy stone houses. Market stalls filled with colorful fabrics, exotic spices, and other unfamiliar wares were scattered about, their lively merchants calling out to passersby.

Feeling dazed and almost catatonic, Clive took another step, emerging from his stone confinement and out into the open air. The moment his foot hit the large stone step outside the doorway, he was plunged into the hustle and bustle of the strange new world that greeted him.

The people around him were dressed in a bizarre mishmash of styles, with some clad in medieval cloaks and robes, while others wore modern attire like blue jeans and t-shirts. Everything felt off-kilter, a disjointed portrait of reality that was difficult to comprehend.

Clive's eyes then landed on a piece of meat rotating slowly on a spit over a bed of glowing coals - a sight that would ordinarily seem mundane, yet felt oddly too real amidst the chaotic disarray. Further along, he noticed horses tied to nearby posts, their tails flicking impatiently as they waited for their owners to return.

His gaze finally settled on a pair of soldiers, outfitted in shining armor with navy and orange trimmings. The emblem of a white horse was emblazoned boldly on their shields, adding to the surreal tapestry that surrounded Clive. All around him, the world teetered on a precipice between the familiar and the fantastical, leaving him struggling to understand.

"How can this be?" Clive muttered to himself, feeling utterly lost in the sea of contradictions that was his new reality. He incessantly replayed the last moments he spent in the lab, Bret's warning echoing in his head and his own arrogance gnawing at him like a persistent itch.

The field generator - could it have been the cause? Clive considered the possibility, but his mind simply couldn't fathom how. The nature of the mistake he had made should have ended his existence, or so he thought. Not transported him to a world caught between the past and the present.

With no other place to go, Clive numbly stepped onto the dirt street, his legs moving almost mechanically, leading him through the strange world without really processing where he was going. He was too preoccupied with the whirlpool of chaotic thoughts and unanswered questions churning within his frenzied mind.

As Clive wandered aimlessly, he couldn't help but overhear a conversation between a meat seller and a man in dusty robes. Their voices carried over the background noise, fueled by the intensity of the exchange.

The meat seller, seeming weary, said, "Three pieces, sir. That's the final price."

The man in dusty robes was unhappy, "Two pieces should be enough! That's what it costs everywhere else!"

The meat seller seemed unyielding, his voice firm and resolute. "Prices have gone up, sir. I'm afraid it's three pieces for the meat."

Looking outraged but ultimately defeated, the man reluctantly handed over the three pieces. The meat seller promptly wrapped the chunk of meat in a piece of flatbread, handing it to the man.

As the man in dusty robes took his purchase, he continued to grumble under his breath, "These damn 'Denver' bastards really know how to rob you."

Clive's panting grew heavy. Every time he found a moment of clarity, it slipped away. The spectacle had distracted him for a moment, and settled him. But it had been fleeting. His yes darted, tears of despair, of madness, threatening to burst forth. At the mention of Denver in the exchange between the two men, his confusion spiked. Was this Denver? How could it be? He staggered, reeling with thoughts about how this place could bear any relation to the city he knew.

He raised his eyes to take in the full sweep of the scene. It looked like a medieval town, but with jarring inconsistencies. Here and there among the muddy streets and stone buildings, Clive noticed certain features completely out of place. Doors with modern designs, metal frames that belonged to another era, and other elements that simply didn't fit.

In the distance, Clive's eyes locked onto a sight that defied reality. A colossal tower tower rose from the sea of urbanity. Its design was reminiscent of a skyscraper, yet infinitely more unique. Its architecture seemed almost alien, with glowing strips of light running along its sides like veins of energy pulsing through the structure. And it was huge. It didn't match the feudal world around it. Whatever this place was, Clive knew it strayed far from the Denver he knew.

The tower didn't just look modern; it looked like something straight out of a science fiction movie. Clive stared at it intently. Even with the madness, his mind was captive. His mouth gaped as he tried to make sense of its existence. It looked vaguely familiar. Had he seen sketches or blueprints of something similar at a meeting? He couldn't be sure.

Distracted by his thoughts, Clive glanced around, only to catch sight of the two guards eyeing him from a distance. Their hands rested warily on the hilts of their swords, as if prepared for any potentially dangerous move Clive might make. He then noticed a man in a flowing, ornate gown making his way toward the stone doorway Clive had just left, as if it were a place of importance.

What was the room he had just left? Was it time to try and view this as reality? Could this really all be in his head? Clive couldn't help but think that perhaps the key to understanding his predicament lay somewhere inside that very room. With a new sense of focus, Clive watched the man in the ornate gown, trying to piece together how everything he saw fit together. He tried to grasp anything that might help explain his current reality.

Realizing the potential risk of drawing the guards' attention, Clive quickly turned away, doing his best to act casual. As he cautiously walked through the busy market, a young child passed by, shooting him a perplexed glance. "Funny clothes, mister."

The attention panicked him. Confused by the comment, but unable to dwell on it, he continued walking. He didn't dare cast a glance back to see if the soldiers were watching him. He came across a stall displaying a array of weapons. Among the medieval swords, bows, and crossbows, he spotted what appeared to be an bulletproof vest. Clive couldn't reconcile the existence of such a modern item in a place that seemed so rooted in the past.

As he walked further, he overheard the sound of children bickering nearby. Their voices were high-pitched and excited. There was familiarity to the sound somehow felt comforting in the midst of the bizarre environment Clive found himself in. He paused to listen to them, to distract himself, to ground himself. However, as he took in their words, it only served as another reminder of the disconnect between this world and the Denver he knew.

A little blond boy, dressed like an extra from The Lord of the Rings, said, "Dad says we can't do worse than The Rustknight. I'm glad he's gone, and I hope we find a better warrior to be The Sword."

A dirty child countered, "Roland was a great warrior! He won the Key in the West when he was The Sword in Seattle. It's just bad luck, and battles can be about luck sometimes."

The blond boy snorted dismissively, "Well, Windrake barely won for us. Dad says because of so few flows, the main factories will be shut down. We really need to win this year."

A girl chimed in, "Windrake's squire might take The Sword."

The first boy frowned, "Stormhand would be even worse. Someone better better be found at The Choosing."

Clive listened. There was familiarity to the cadence, to the pitch. They sounded like any kids, arguing over whether Batman or Superman would win a fight. He tried to make sense of their conversation. He found himself utterly confused by the words and concepts they mentioned - The Sword, The Key, flows,- none of them provided a clear answer as to where he was or how it related to his familiar world.

Emotions began to well up within him. The panic was fading now. But it was only despair that came to take its place. His feelings were strangling him, threatening to spill over as tears, borne from the frustration and fear of what had happened to him. The only thing holding Clive back from falling to the ground right there, was the hope that somehow, he might find a solution. An explanation. He was a problem solver, that's what he did.

Suddenly, Clive's thoughts were interrupted by a commotion. The sound of a man screaming in despair and shock echoed from inside the stone room he had so recently left. Again his emotions took a u-turn. The hopelessness pushed aside by fear. His heart raced anew as he stood rooted to the spot, hearing the shouts and shrieks echo from the doorway. His mind filled with even more questions about the nature of this mysterious place. But most of all, at that moment, he felt fear for his safety.

Moments later, the ornate robed man reappeared, his face twisted in anguish. He staggered down the steps, pale and weak. He wailed, "The Prophet is gone!"

He continued his mournful cries, his words slicing through the air like a knife, cutting short the happy murmur of the crowd. "The disappearance of the Prophet means doom for us all!"

Reacting to the cries, the two soldiers who had previously eyed Clive cautiously rushed past the distraught priest and hurriedly entered the stone room. Their weapons were drawn, their expressions tense and determined. Clive wondered what horrors had unfolded inside the very room he had escaped. What had he narrowly avoided by leaving there?

With each passing second, the tension threatened to devour him. He felt he should move, get away from here, but his curiosity held him there, rooted him.

In the aftermath of the priest's proclamation, the once-bustling crowd descended into a mix of anger and fear. Cries and shouts echoed throughout the market square, the people visibly distraught by the news of the missing Prophet, whatever or whoever the hell that was. The people moved toward the door, fixed on it.

Clive noticed the little boy, who had earlier commented on his clothes, tugging at the priest's sleeve.

Meanwhile, the soldiers who had rushed into the stone room emerged pale-faced and visibly shaken. In their eyes, Clive could see horror.

Suddenly, the priest seemed snap from his state of shock. Something the boy had said seemed to draw him in. The robed man leaned down to pay close attention to the little boy's words. He lifted his head and scanned the crowd in an apparent search for something - or someone. As Clive looked on, the priest's eyes locked onto him, and with a bony finger, the priest pointed in his direction.

The soldiers, catching sight of the pointed finger, immediately turned their attention to Clive. Their eyes flared with intent as they started to rush towards him.

Seeing the approaching soldiers, Clive's instincts took over, and he turned to flee without a second thought. The terror and confusion within him surged like a tidal wave. He couldn't have defined why he ran. He had seen enough today, experienced enough. The angry soldiers were too much.

Clive weaved through the labyrinthine streets, his heart pounding in his chest as he desperately tried to put distance between himself and his pursuers. The sound of armored footsteps echoed behind him. He had no direction, he just ran.

His surroundings passed by in a blur - the mud walls, the ancient stone walls. The odd element that didn't fit. a glass door framed in plastic, an electric light fitting. He barely had time to register each incongruous detail as he fled from the soldiers.

Suddenly, Clive found himself bursting from an alley onto a cobbled street. From narrow pressing walls, to open space. He heard a noise, and skipped aside, narrowly avoiding a collision with an odd-looking vehicle. The strange contraption seemed to be a bizarre mixture of an early motor car and a steam-powered train.

As Clive stumbled back from the bizarre vehicle, regaining his footing amidst the commotion, the driver yelled something at him, which only served to disorient him further.

Before he could recover, Clive suddenly felt the grip of leather gloves on his shoulders. He was spun around to face one of the guards he had been fleeing from, now standing in front of him, a stern expression on his face.

"You're coming with us," the guard announced, his authoritative tone allowing no room for argument or resistance. Clive's heart sank, his newfound sense of terror mingling with the ever-growing puzzle his life had become.

Chapter 2

"The fuck are we even doing here, anyway? If those fuckers would just split up they could cover all this ground in a tenth the time it will take us. Those three up there are an army on their own. What the hell are we doing risking our lives out here?"

Nicolas absently listened to the words of his Sergeant as he waited. They were both looking at the rise in front of them. Behind him, the murmurs and whispers of three thousand men filled the air.

Nicolas began slowly, trying to keep his voice calm and steady, as he replied to his Sergeant. "If those three ever strayed too far from one another, The Sword would be an easy target for an Axe. The enemy knows that. And we both know how crucial The Sword is to our success. He wouldn't risk exposing himself like that."

Nicolas stared at the three armored figures standing on the rise before them. Their armor gleamed in the sunlight. The energy that pulsed between the gaps in the armor seemed to be a physical reminder of their immense power. The tubes and wires embedded in their forms gave them an otherworldly appearance. No matter how much time he spent near them, he couldn't shake the feeling the feeling of awe. The sense that they were more than mortal.

The murmurs and whispers of the soldiers behind him only served to strengthen his resolve, every word spoken a reminder of the human lives that depended on the actions of their small scouting party. They were the eyes and ears of the army, the first line of defense against any threat that could come their way. And they had been tasked with a mission: to scout the surrounding terrain in search of an Orb.

Nicolas studied the three figures more closely, taking in the orange and black armor that marked them as part of the elite. First, there was Jorin Brightforge, The Sword. A prodigious young warrior with a giant, energy-pulsing blade strapped to his back. Despite experiencing a string of ill luck over the past year that resulted in few Orbs being gathered, the stockpile wasn't yet depleted, thanks in large part to the victories of recent years.

Standing close to Jorin was Arcstone, The Shield. Clad in monstrously bulky armor, it was clear he took his role as protector and leader seriously. The unwavering trust between The Sword and The Shield was palpable, even from this distance.

On the opposite side of Jorin stood Jareth Hunter, The Arrow. With his lean, finely crafted armor and bladed arms glinting in the light, he was the ideal counterbalance to Arcstone's imposing bulk. Together, Hunter and Brightforge made for a formidable pair, two of the most promising Sword and Arrow talents in the land. The hopes of the city rested squarely on their shoulders, and they carried the burden with relentless determination.

The Sergeant, Bryan, gave a heavy sigh. "I don't know, Colonel. Sometimes I wonder what the point of us being here is. Each of those Suits is worth a thousand men. Meanwhile, we've all got families and work waiting for us back home."

Nicolas knew that Bryan's words were fueled by fear rather than genuine disdain. In an attempt to reassure his Sergeant, Nicolas replied, "Bryan, we all play our part in this. There are only five Suits in our city, they can't be everywhere at once. Our presence here – all three thousand of us – is enough to make an enemy Suit think twice about attacking. We can secure and hold an Orb until it's safely collected."

Pausing briefly, Nicolas continued, "I've been doing this for a long time, and speaking from experience, men like us rarely see any real action on the battlefield. The Suits usually determine the outcomes of these encounters, and there are few who can match our Sword and Arrow."

Bryan snorted in response, his lingering fears still gnawing at him, and countered, "If that's the case, then why are we rationing Flows again?"

The question hung heavy in the air, and Nicolas was forced to admit that he didn't have all the answers.

Nicolas adjusted the carbine rifle strapped to his chest, which, while a useful tool in the right circumstances, wasn't something he enjoyed carrying. It felt like unnecessary weight when he considered the odds of actually using it. It was useless this far from an orb. However, he knew that the rifle could be crucial if an Orb should land nearby. His hand instinctively returned to the hilt of his sword, a weapon he felt much more comfortable and prepared to wield.

"Ill luck played a part, that's true," Nicolas admitted. "Brightforge sustained some damage in the battle with the Axe from the Hill Clans last year, and he struggled to make a swift recovery. The Sword's presence on the battlefield is crucial – it's around him that the other Suits' strategies revolve. This year will be better, though. The lights will shine, and the factories will be churning again soon."

Bryan nodded, his anxiety still lingering but tempered with a glimmer of hope. "I sure hope so," he muttered. "My wife's been complaining nonstop about the lack of denims, and we're struggling to find medicine for our youngest. It's easy for those bastards up in the tower – their lights are always on. It's the little people like us who suffer when the Flows run low."

As the armored figures began to descend the slope towards Nicolas and Bryan, the two soldiers instinctively straightened up, snapping to attention. "Looks like we'll get a chance to see our purpose soon enough," Nicolas whispered. "I think they've figured out where to go."

As Brightforge approached, his armor hummed with the sound of actuators, and his visor was aglow with energy. His voice, emanating from a speaker on his helmet, carried an air of authority. "Due north. We are detecting something faint. If there's an Orb there, it's far away. Start moving in that direction, we'll go on ahead. We'll signal if we need you to hurry."

"Yes, sir," Nicolas responded immediately, his voice strong and confident.

With that, Brightforge turned and rejoined Arcstone and Hunter. All at once, the trio gave a sudden pulse, and they shot forward, racing away at a speed many times faster than any horse could manage. Dirt sprayed in their wake as Nicolas and his men were left to follow, relying on their own strength and determination to guide them towards the potential of a battle – and the promise of victory.

Bryan couldn't help but voice his frustration. "If it's so important for us to be there, why not use the Glow to bring all of us there faster?"

Nicolas waved for his men to start moving as he responded, "Using the Glow to move three thousand men would be much slower, Bryan. Besides, we need to conserve that energy. Remember, if there's an Orb out there, we have to be quick about it. The Hill Clans are roaming too, and Thorn Jaxwulf has been sighted. To beat Jaxwulf, we'll need every advantage we can get."

At the mere mention of the name, Bryan shuddered involuntarily. "Damn, I can't even imagine seeing Jaxwulf in person."

Nicolas was no less chilled at the thought of Jaxwulf. No sane man could hear that name and not feel a chill. But he kept his expression cool, reminded his Sergeant, "Brightforge and Hunter are with us, remember? They would surely be a match for even someone like Jaxwulf."

The company began their march northward at a brisk pace, fast enough to make distance, but measured enough to stay fresh.

"I don't know," Bryan replied hesitantly. "I've heard stories about Jaxwulf. They say he killed the Shield from Cleveland just last fall. I've never heard of an Axe beating a Shield before – a Shield's whole purpose is to defeat an Axe."

The weight of those stories weighed heavily on the minds of Nicolas and his men. The wilds always brought danger, but some monster's were scarier than others. It was duty that kep them marching.

The company of three thousand men marched steadily through the landscape. The land here was wild. It was a mix of rugged hills and lush forests. The air was damp with the scent of dew-drenched foliage, and a symphony of birdsong accompanied their journey. There were no roads here, the was wild country. Even as they navigated the challenges of the undulating terrain it was hard to ignore what was around them. They were city men, and the wilds were beautiful. All the same, their hearts were haunted by what these wilds miTht contain.

They passed a river that meandered gracefully. In the distance they could see the shape of a small village with wooden houses that blended seamlessly into the landscape. Shapes moved at the edge of the village, the inhabitants watching the soldiers.

As the company climbed the sturdier slopes, they were afforded sweeping panoramic views of the countryside. Green hills stretched into the distance, punctuated occasionally by stark outcroppings of ancient rock. It was breathtaking.

Suddenly, in the distance, a plume of energy shot into the sky, illuminating the area with a burst of bright light. Nicolas recognized the signal immediately and barked, "Brightforge is calling us – the Orb must be there!"

He turned to face the troops and roared, "Double time!" The soldiers picked up their pace, adrenaline fueling their tired legs as they pushed forward.

Bryan, panting beside Nicolas, shared his thoughts, "I've never actually seen an Orb."

Nicolas took a moment to reflect on the fact that it was rare to have a Sergeant as inexperienced as Bryan, given he had never seen an Orb before. However, he reminded himself of Bryan's exemplary performance in the skirmishes with the Cleveland forces the year prior, allowing him to climb quickly through the ranks. Despite his greenness, Nicolas had no regrets having Bryan by his side in battle.

"If you're involved in a battle for an Orb," Nicolas explained, "it's usually against other soldiers – it's rare to fight the Suits."

Bryan hesitated, then asked, "Have you ever fought a Suit?"

Nicolas' eyes grew distant, his mind flickering back to that harrowing day. The titanic fight against the armored warrior who tore through their ranks, leaving a brutal trail of bloodshed, severed limbs, and fear in his wake. The soldiers had fought desperately, some fleeing in terror from the unstoppable force that seemed more like a demon than a man.

His voice filled with somber reverence, Nicolas admitted, "Yes, once. We lost 600 men and had 300 wounded, but we managed to beat him back. It seems like such a terrible price to pay, but just think of your child needing medicine and the thousands like him back in Cincy. The Orb we secured that day kept the ebbs flowing and made a difference in their lives."

The soldiers pressed on, climbing a steep rise that overlooked the surrounding landscape. As they ascended, the panorama unfolded before them; vast, rolling hills carpeted in vibrant green, interspersed with dense patches of woodland. The atmosphere was alive with the chatter of birds and the collective footsteps of 3,000 men marching with purpose and determination.

At last, reaching the summit of the rise, they were afforded a view of something truly awe-inspiring: a glowing sphere, almost glassy in its appearance and the size of a horse-drawn wagon. Its ethereal beauty went beyond anything the men had ever seen before, and it seemed almost out of place in the natural world that surrounded it.

Nicolas, trying to keep his focus, repeatedly thumbed the safety of his rifle on and off, attempting to gauge by sound alone if the Orb was close enough for his weapon to have any effect.

Bryan's voice held a note of wonder as he said, "My God, that's beautiful."

Nicolas nodded in agreement but quickly returned to the task at hand. "That Orb holds a hundred Flows. It could sustain the first sector for quite some time – it would make a big difference."

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"Let's go get it, then," Bryan said with renewed determination.

The scene below them suddenly erupted into a whirlwind of action, as the orange and black armored warriors clashed with their brown and black opposites. Each fighter in their powered armor moved with superhuman speed, a blur of force and fury, as gods clashed with gods in a furious ballet of metal and power. The soldiers above looked on in fascination as they realized that the stakes had been raised – now, it wasn't just an Orb they were fighting for, but their very survival.

Nicolas remained frozen, his eyes darting around the scene below as he tried to identify the combatants. He could make out Brightforge clashing with another figure that appeared to be another Sword. If they were facing Cleveland forces, then it had to be Dahlia Wraitheshade – a fearsome warrior in her own right and a possible match for Brightforge.

His gaze shifted to Arcstone, The Shield, who was engaged in a fierce battle with an Axe. The Axe, nearly as massive and armored as Arcstone himself, radiated energy as their powerful forms collided. Cleveland's Axe was known as Galeheart – a figure whose reputation was only slightly less terrifying than that of Jaxwulf.

Although Shield suits typically held an advantage over Axe suits, type advantage could be offset my level. Galeheart was a force to be reckoned with. Hulkingly enormous and seemingly composed of pure destructive energy, he was one of the exceptions who could defy the usual hierarchy of type advantage. The soldiers watched in awe as the battle of titans unfolded before them.

Nicolas' attention turned to Hunter, who was locked in fierce combat with Alura Copperleaf, the Cleveland Arrow. In this matchup, Cincinnati seemed to have a clear advantage – Hunter was potentially one of the most powerful Arrows in the land. The two opponents danced around each other, and despite Hunter's undeniable edge in both power and skill, Nicolas knew that a single misstep could quickly turn the tide of the battle.

"We need to get into position," Nicolas shouted. "Our presence could make a difference. We can help secure our Suits' backs and make the Cleveland bastards think twice about pressing their attack – maybe even force them to back off."

Bryan looked doubtful as he questioned, "But they're like gods – what can we do against them?"

"I've seen it before," Nicolas said. "They can't afford to risk themselves too much. The presence of three thousand soldiers can make a difference – the threat we pose might be enough to make them think twice. Idon't see a Cleveland army backing them up. These three are isolated. Let's move."

With a nod, Bryan relayed the command to his troops, roaring, "Move out!"

The soldiers sprang into action. This was the nightmare of every mortal man, to be pitted against the power of a Griidlord. The men moved, faces tight with fear. Hearts pounded in chests.

The army surged forward, streaming down the valley toward the Orb and the intense battle that raged between Brightforge and Wraitheshade. As they grew closer, the soldiers could feel the waves of heat emanating from the clashing, glowing blades of the two Swords, the radiant energy intense enough to ignite the grass around them.

"Get the 2nd and 3rd Order troops to the front as we get closer to the Orb," Nicolas snapped to Bryan, his voice tight. He kept his eyes locked on what was happening. He owed a duty to the city to claim the Orb, but a duty, too, to his men, to keep them alive.

Bryan, though nervous, nodded and replied, "2nd Order troops, I understand... But do you think the Orb is close enough for the 3rd Order gear to function?"

Nicolas clicked the safety of his rifle, confidence ringing in his voice as he said, "It's close enough. She's ready to fire."

Bryan seemed to gather himself then, his face grew firm. His voice boomed as he shouted, "Twos and threes to the front!"

The 2nd Order soldiers, their muskets primed and ready, rushed forward without delay. Meanwhile, the 3rd Order troops, armed with automatic rifles and sheathed swords, quickly assumed their new positions. The entire formation seemed to come alive. Units drifted passed each with practiced ease, each soldier fully aware that every move they made from this point on could mean the difference between life and death, victory and defeat.

With the Orb less than a hundred yards away, Nicolas shouldered his rifle and prepared to open fire. Bryan echoed the command, ordering the 2nd and 3rd Order troops to follow suit. In unison, they aimed and began firing their weapons, sending a torrent of musket balls and bullets streaming toward Wraitheshade as Brightforge nimbly danced backward to avoid friendly fire.

The hail of projectiles pummeled Wraitheshade, causing her to stagger. She steadied herself, turned to the line of men. Now the bullets seemed to bounce off of her like rain. Nicolas narrowed his eyes, firing, watching. He knew she couldn't stand there forever. It was a matter of time before her shields were exhausted, but a round found a vulnerable spot. She turned form Brightforge, redirected her focus toward the oncoming army. Nicolas couldn't help but flinch as he witnessed the god-like figure, now consumed with wrath, making a beeline for them.

But just as swiftly as the turn of events transpired, Brightforge's sword struck a phenomenal blow, halting Wraitheshade's advance. The force of the strike sent the enemy Sword flying through the air, and the resulting shockwave of energy rippling outward from the impact staggered the front line of the army.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, and the battlefield fell silent as the soldiers took in the sight of a fallen god. Though her fate was not yet sealed, this small victory sparked a glimmer of hope in the hearts of the Cincinnati troops.

In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere on the battlefield shifted. The other two Cleveland Suits disengaged their opponents, moving to stand protectively alongside the wounded Wraitheshade. It was clear that the mood had changed – the battle seemed to be over, as the opposing forces recognized that pressing on would make little sense; the presence of the 3,000 soldiers had proven to be the pivotal factor.

Wraitheshade's voice, booming through her helmet's speaker, taunted Brightforge. "Are you sure you don't want to see if you can finish me off?"

Brightforge's response was swift and confident, "Some day when I don't have an army by my side, we might get the chance to find out."

Wraitheshade laughed, though her voice conveyed a hint of sincerity. "I'm looking forward to it."

Nearby, Galeheart seemed almost restless with anticipation, urging her, "There are only a few thousand men. Just take down one of their Suits, and it will balance the playing field for us."

Wraitheshade shook her head, her voice staunch and resolute, "It's not worth the risk. There are more battles to be fought, and we can't afford to lose one of us here. We need to know when to cut our losses."

The standoff between the two groups of warriors, the orange and black painted gods and the Cleveland Suits, was palpable. Each bearing the marks and scars from the brief but intense battle, they stared each other down, the air thick with tension and anticipation.

After a long moment, Wraithshield turned away from her opponents and, with a pulse of energy, vanished like a demon – a torpedo streaking across the landscape. Copperleaf, not one to be left behind, quickly followed suit.

All eyes were now on Galeheart, who stood alone, staring down the trio of Cincinnati Suits and the 3,000 soldiers behind them. His towering form bristled with power, seeming to loom even larger in the face of the challenge before him. Despite the odds favoring Cincinnati, Nicolas couldn't help but feel a chilling fear take hold as he imagined the carnage the legendary Galeheart could cause if he decided to stay and fight.

Then, seemingly reluctant to withdraw but recognizing the necessity of preservation, Galeheart turned away from the gathered forces. In an instant, he too propelled himself away across the valley, leaving the victorious Cincinnati soldiers to take possession of the battlefield – and the precious Orb that had been the cause of it all.

The battlefield fell eerily silent. There was disbelief. Could it really be over that fast? The danger that had seemed so great, gone in an instant? The silence stretched, broken only by shaking breath or the rattle of gear, until, finally, it was Brightforge who broke the tension.

"Victory!" he roared, his voice booming from his helm speakers, sword held in the air for all to see.

The effect was immediate. The silence cracked open like an egg, the air filling with the cheers of three thousand voices. They had faced death and survived. They had come for the Orb and won it. The precious Orb, and the previous Flows contained within it, was now in their hands, secured for their people and their city.

Chapter 3

In a state of disbelief, Clive sat on the laminate floor, chained to the wall. He couldn't understand the strange paradox that had enveloped his life. Outside the small room was a medieval town, filled with men wielding swords and riding horses, yet here he was in a room with plastic floors and other modern elements. Still, he couldn't accept that this was real. Was this some sort of mad dream? But the hours stretched on and he didn't wake up. Maybe he was trapped in a coma, with everything around him nothing more than an elaborate, mind-generated fantasy.

As time trickled endlessly, Clive's mind raced, trying to discern the logic hidden within this bizarre world. Even in this building the contradictions mounted. The soldiers in the hall carried swords, wore armor. But he had seen electrical sockets on the walls, the floor beneath him was plastic.

Opposite Clive sat an old man with a long beard, also chained to the wall. The man had tried to speak to him earlier, but Clive had been too catatonic to make sense of anything. Clive reasoned that if this was a fit, or a dream, or a coma, it couldn't hurt him to engage with it. He had the niggling sensation that maybe this might all be real. He gathered his emotions and decided to suspend his disbelief at the world around him. He looked over at the old man who had been calmly staring at him.

Clive, blurted, "What's a Sword?"

The old man, looking at Clive as though he was a crazy person, replied, "Sharp metal with a handle for chopping folks."

Clive, realizing the misunderstanding, repeated and emphasized the word "Sword" in a way that indicated he was talking about a specific use of the word in the context of their strange world.

The old man, still looking bemused, responded, "Ah, you mean the Suit? What the hell are you talking about? How could you not know what a Sword is?"

It was apparent that "Sword" held a unique meaning within this world, referring to a specific role or person of importance. Clive knew that understanding this could be the key to unraveling the truth of his bizarre circumstances.

Clive, feeling out of place, admitted, "I'm not from around here."

The old man commented on his clothes, noticing the peculiar aspects of Clive's appearance. "Your clothes are odd, even your accent. Makes sense if you’re a traveler, but where could you be from to not know about the Suits?"

Clive hesitated before responding. "A long way away." Internally, he reflected on the possibility of being in a different dimension, or time, or planet. But most likely, he thought, he was hallucinating or dead.

The old man, now suspicious, questioned Clive further, "Whereabouts exactly?"

Clive, lying, said, "New York."

The old man's incredulity was evident, "There are 10 Suits in New York! It's the City With Two Kings! What's wrong with you? Are you hopped up or just plain crazy?"

Clive, deflated and barely holding onto his sanity in this strange world, replied, "Maybe I am. But why not humor me? Tell me what a Sword is."

The old man pondered for a moment, considering his situation. He was chained and had time to spare, so he decided to share the information with Clive.

Old man, "You don't know what a Suit is? Fair strange… Some folks call them Griidlords, that's the proper term. Each city has five of them, except for Angel City and New York. Those hell holes are split between two states, each."

Clive, "But what is a Suit?"

The Old man, sighed, somewhat suspicious, somewhat annoyed, "A Suit is like a god. Only a precious few are chosen to wear them, and it takes a long time for them to learn how to use them after being chosen."

This explanation sparked Clive's curiosity: What kind of powers did these Suits possess, and why were they of such importance within this world? Despite the pressing dangers of his situation, he was drawn to learn more about the Griidlords and the reason behind their mysterious existence.

Clive, despite feeling overwhelmed, pressed on, "So what's a Sword, exactly?"

The old man, continuing, but eying him like a dangerous spider, said, "Each city has five Suits, each one different: the Sword, the Axe, the Shield, the Arrow, and the Scepter. Each Suit has different powers and different weaknesses. The Axe beats the Sword, the Shield beats the Axe, and so on. It's like rock-paper-scissors, or how water beats fire, and so on."

He paused, shaking his head in disbelief, before continuing.

"The Swords and the Scepters have the power to tear down walls, making towns fear them. The Sword is special, always the leader of the Griidlords within a city. They can channel energy through others. It's hard to believe you don't know about this. Where the hell are you from?"

Clive, trying to wrap his head around the information, asked, "How are the Suits chosen?"

"Different cities have different rules. Some people have a natural affinity that make them better Griidlords. When an old one is killed or burns out, there's a long process of choosing a replacement. In some cities, politics are involved, so noble sons or politicians get the Suit, but those cities struggle. They always need the best person in the Suit, whether it's a commoner or a king - it doesn't matter."

Clive, remembering the children talking in the square, asked, "So is a new Sword needed here? Is that the choosing?"

"Our Sword, Roland Windrake, was a hero in Seattle. He won many battles in the west and earned many orbs for the city. But politics forced him to leave, and he became the Sword in Denver. Things didn't go so well here. Maybe the Rustknight is over the hill, or maybe it's just bad luck. Roland left Denver and went East. There are rumors he's taken up with the Hill Clans. They're looking for a new Sword after Chief Thoddeus burned out. No one is quite sure if Roland is traveling between cities for glory or if there's some other purpose."

Clive asked the old man cautiously, "What other purpose could Roland have?"

The old man replied, thoughtful himself, briefly forgetting his suspicions of the madman he was talking with, "I'm not sure. Griidlords gain esoteric knowledge when they take up the mantle, knowledge of The Griid, and they often seek artifacts and higher purposes. The Rustknight was a curious character, and there are many stories about him."

Trying to process the information, Clive asked another question, "What's an orb?"

"I don't truly know," the old man admitted. "But orbs make things work. You see, without orbs, a city just has horses, swords, and muscle power. Except for the tower – that always has electricity and such. But a city without an orb can't use tech. With an orb, they can power up factories, cars, trucks, and even guns. Priests will tell ya that it’s a gift from the oracle, and mayhaps it is, but I’ve got mixed feelings about the priests. Lots o' folks do."

Clive froze, struck by shock as the old man's words resonated deeply within him. What the old man was saying was all too familiar to him. He reflected back on his real life, his work. What the old man seemed to be talking about were the fields, the fields he had worked on for years. The fields he had been interacting with moments before he opened his eyes in that dark room. Clive focused on the old man. "So, without an orb, there are no guns, nothing digital, and no electric lights?"

The old man repeated himself, slightly annoyed, "That's what I said! Orbs are the power source that sets the level of tech in a city. Some places might have muskets, others just swords, while those better supplied have automatic rifles. If there are enough orbs, a city might even have energy weapons. Most importantly, though, is orbs mean factories, jobs, comforts, and hospitals. A city with enough orbs has all the things that make us little folks happy and healthy and safe."

Clive's heart started to beat a little faster again. There was an excitement growing in him, not a pleasant one. These orbs and their connection to technology seemed to echo the very experiments he had been working on in his own life. Was it possible that this strange world and his work back home were connected somehow, or was it just another layer of falsehood in an already bewildering illusion?

Clive, partly talking to himself, mumbled, "Order and entropy fields?"

Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to make sense of the connection between this bizarre world and his experiments back home. "We were just experimenting. It's too immature. How can it affect so much space? Jesus, are the orbs supplying Order fields? Why is everything covered in Entropy field? Where, or when, am I?"

Desperate for answers, Clive turned to the old man, "Do you know what the USA is?"

The old man nodded solemnly, "Do you mean before the Fall?"

Clive froze in place, "Yes... what was the Fall?"

The old man's voice grew somber as he explained, "The Fall was when the Oracle brought mankind low. People were sinners, greedy, destroying the planet, causing the oceans to swell and cities to sink. The Oracle came and took man's power away, leaving him with nothing but sticks and stones. But the Oracle also offered redemption, giving humanity Ebbs and Flows, the chance to experience the time before the Fall."

The room fell silent as Clive processed the information, shaking and barely able to believe the coincidences. He and Bret had been working on understanding these fields for their company, merely trying to grasp how they worked. Surely, it couldn't have led to all of this.

Clive, eager for more information, asked the old man, "What happens if someone tries to fire a gun without orbs around?"

The old man explained, "Mostly, nothing happens. There's a slow burn, but no bang. Sometimes, though, a gun might work – or it might explode and kill ya."

Clive's thoughts raced back to his work. He remembered performing experiments just like that, intensifying entropy fields to reduce the complexity of the technology surrounding him. The connection between his research on Order and Entropy fields and the orbs that defined the capabilities of this strange world seemed undeniable. As the pieces fell into place, Clive could feel the weight of responsibility and disbelief settling deep within him.

Visibly shaking and struggling to accept what he was learning, Clive asked, "When was the Fall?"

The old man replied pensively, "Nobody knows exactly. Some priests claim it was 1000 years ago, others say a million, but most people settle around the 1000-year mark."

Trying to find some sliver of logic, Clive asked, "How can I be here?"

The old man, growing more uneasy and slightly fearful of the seemingly crazed stranger, asked, "Where did you come from? Your accent is strange, and you're wearing that white coat. Are you a priest?"

Clive hesitated before answering, "I think..."

He couldn't fully process it all. Memories of testing an Order field flooded his mind. The shielding had dropped, and Bret had tried to warn him. But Clive had been overconfident, cocky even, and suddenly, he found himself in this strange world. Had he traveled through time? And could he travel back? He didn't think so – Order fields didn't operate like that. The implications of his newfound knowledge were both overwhelming and impossible to comprehend.

Chapter 4

As Nicolas marched at the head of the triumphant army, the world blurred past them. It sped by them unnaturally quickly, a haze separated him and his men from the land beyond. The Footfield, projected from the Griidsuits of the Lords that accompanied them, allowed those within its grasp to move at remarkable speeds. The landscape melted around him, speeding past much faster than a horse could gallop. The familiar walls of Cincinnati grew slowly on the horizon.

Yet, amidst the triumphant return, Nicolas couldn't shake a nagging feeling of shame. The further they marched, the more the signs of a struggling civilization came into view. Lush wilderness gave way to ploughed fields dotted with weary farmhouses. Peasants farmed the wilds, towns existed out there. But nearer the larger cities was always a concentration of agriculture and industry.

The source of his vague shame was all around him. He watched as a pair of horses strained against the weight of their plough, and the sight filled him with dismay. There wasn't enough Order for the city to spend it on tractors, the machines lay idle in warehouses. Instead the common folk toiled by hand and by animal. The poverty of the city burned in him, it was the duty of the army to gather the flows and this all pointed the finger of failure at him. The promise of the past, a time where machines took on the burden of the work, so humans could turn their eyes to the stars, seemed to grow dimmer with each passing day.

Looking around him, Nicolas silently vowed to work harder and achieve greater success in the year to come. He was determined to be a part of rebuilding the prestige of his city. There had been too many decades of weakness, of struggle. He would fight for a future where tractors would once again render the horses' efforts unnecessary. These were new times, with young and powerful Griidlords to lead them.

As he approached the gates of Cincinnati, those towering bulwarks of hope and defiance, Nicolas let the determination kindle within him a spark of renewed purpose. This was a day of victory. They had won an Orb. This victory would not be their last, and he would do everything in his power to ensure their continued success in the battles to come.

"We'll be given a hero's welcome for sure," Bryan said, his eyes gleaming with an excitement that was infectious.

"A wild orb is such a prize – they’ll throw us feasts, the factories will roar with life again, there’ll be work and trade and medicine for my lad at home." Bryan shifted in his stride, hitching his weapon on his shoulder. "We'll be going to the Sanctum, they say – I've heard so much about it. I'm sure you've been there before, experienced the luxuries and wonders. But I’ve never experienced it."

Nicolas sighed, his melancholy dissolving in the face of Bryan's excitement. "Aye, I've been feasted there a few times," he admitted. "It’s true, the Sanctum does hold wonders – the lights never dim, the ice cream is as cold as winter, and the screens with endless entertainment! Screens everywhere. But, at the same time, it never truly felt like my place. I couldn't shake the feeling I was amongst my betters, always looked down upon. I was treated less like a soldier being celebrated and more like a dumb pet being rewarded with a treat."

Bryan's face took on an edge, his voice scornful as he replied, "Don't be so dark, Nicolas. You should learn to enjoy a treat when you can get it. Life doesn't offer many luxuries to the likes of us."

Nicolas merely nodded, offering no other words to fuel the conversation. With the same silence that had enveloped them before, the two men continued their march towards the city. They walked within the Footfield as it blurred past farmhouses and stretched landscapes, distorting the world in subtle ways. To those outside the field, the army would seem to move at the steady pace of a galloping horse – perhaps even faster – all thanks to the Griidlords' mysterious gift.

As the city walls grew closer and closer, Nicolas knew deep within him that their forthcoming celebrations would not overshadow the ongoing struggle of the world.

Bryan's gaze shifted to Brightforge, who marched proudly ahead of them, his body radiating the soft shimmer of absorbed Flows from the orb. "It's truly a sight to behold, how they glow like that – full of power and promise," he said, his voice laced with admiration.

Nicolas nodded in agreement. "Each of them now holds a lifetime's fortune in Flows. It's incredible."

Bryan's expression softened as he considered the implications. "I understand better now the importance of simple soldiers like us. The Suits, powerful as they are, become so vulnerable while absorbing the Flows. They desperately need support during that time."

"That's why they slow themselves down with an army to back them up," Nicolas added thoughtfully. "The Griidlords can move many times faster when the Footfield covers them alone. But they're willing to sacrifice some of their speed to keep us close, knowing that a few thousand men are critical for their defense."

As they marched within the Footfield, the pair felt a deeper appreciation for their role in the grand scheme of things – a unique bond formed not only between themselves, but also with the Suits they supported. Together, they could be an unstoppable force fighting for the future of their city, their world, and the generations yet to come.

Nicolas couldn't help but shudder as he remembered a harrowing event from the past. The memory of a rogue Suit cutting through their ranks was still vivid in his mind. "When they're attacking, they're like demons – so strong and fast, and nearly invincible," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As the memory played out in his mind, he recalled the devastating effects the Suit's shield had inflicted on them that day. After a moment's pause, Nicolas continued, "They know their own value. A single spear or bullet, aimed precisely or fired at just the right moment, can kill or incapacitate them. And even a minor injury to one Griidlord could weaken their city immeasurably. They simply can't afford to take risks like that or endanger their fellow Suits and people."

He took a breath, the dark memories slowly receding as he shifted his thoughts to the present. "We were fortunate this time to get close enough to the orb to benefit from the field, enabling us to fire higher-level weapons. That alone was much more intimidating to them than anything we could do otherwise."

As they marched on, the realization of the delicate balance between Suits and soldiers settled within them, each understanding how vital the other was to their mutual survival and success.

Bryan shivered at the thought. "Watching Wraitheshield take a barrage of bullets while barely flinching, it's hard to imagine how they could even care about our little army at all."

Nicolas shook his head, cleared his throat. "I know it seems like that. It's hard to shake that feeling when you see them in action. It can be a challenge to get men to even shoot at them. But, you'd be surprised. Each individual bullet might be nothing but a gnat to a Suit, but enough gnats can become an annoyance – even cause pain or death. An army of 3,000 men might actually be enough to bring down a Suit in most cases, depending on the Griidlord inside, of course."

His voice grew solemn as he added, "That is, if you can somehow keep the men from fleeing in terror as they watch their comrades on the front lines turned into red mist. The idea is to present them with a target they don't want to engage. When Griidlords cross swords with mortals... the results are..."

Bryan's voice wavered as he gulped. "Well, the campaign season is still a long way off. Until then, I can only hope that I'll only cross swords with other men on the battlefield or, even better, not have to cross swords at all." He managed a weak smile. There was distant dread on his face fora moment. But it faded, or was forced away, to be replaced by simple joy. "And in the meantime, I can't wait for that feast and the chance to finally taste real ice cream!"

Nicolas shared in Bryan's growing anticipation, his own eyes lighting up at the prospect of the upcoming festivities. They had won after all. A sumptuous feast, luxurious amenities, and delicious ice cream to celebrate their hard-earned victory – it was a well-deserved reward for the countless sacrifices they had made, and the challenges yet to come.

Chapter 5

Elder Jarway stood tall on the balcony of the throne room of the tower, his trusted adviser Sephilous by his side. They both gazed out at the sprawling landscape of their kingdom. It had been called Colorado once. Now there was just Denver and the wilds. Both men seemed lost in thought, their eyes staring but not seeing, their minds working.

Sephilous spoke up cautiously, "It seems a force from Cincinnati has found a wild orb. There was an altercation with the suits from Cleveland, but Cincinnati's suits had 3,000 soldiers with them – enough to make the Clevelanders back off. Brightforge has scored another feather in his cap."

Jarway tapped his chin with his finger. He hummed to himself for a moment, a habit he had discovered could suppress the need others felt to fill sielnces. He said, "It's a rare coup to find a wild orb, especially so long after the Campaign Season. It could have made a significant difference here."

Sephilous nodded in agreement, and then, with a hint of concern coloring his voice, added, "We should keep a close eye on this situation, my lord. The East is always unstable with the territories so packed together. The balance of power between their cities is delicate, and such a discovery could shift it drastically. Disruption is bad for business, bad for trade."

Jarway pondered Sephilous' words. The man had a trying way of stating the obvious and his mind was consumed by the banalities of money. Jarway had greater aspirations.

Sephilous tried to sound reassuring, "We do have an adequate supply of Flows, my lord. The RustKnight may have disappointed, but our campaigns were still a substantial success. We gathered eight orbs in the last season, and our first sector is in splendor, while the lower levels are... let's say, sufficient."

Jarway, however, remained skeptical, "Our fields are plowed by animals, and production is barely enough to meet demand. One bad season could leave our people hungry."

Sephilous acknowledged his lord's concerns, "We can only do what we can, my lord. Our priority now should be to successfully choose a new Sword. With the RustKnight back to wandering, we're fortunate to have an experienced old Sword like you to lead us and guide the choosing."

Jarway listened intently and realized that Sephilous was right. Amidst the uncertainty, it was more important than ever to choose a strong and capable Sword to protect their city and people against any unforeseen challenges.

As Elder Jarway plunged deep into his thoughts, he recalled how wearing the Suit had extended his life. For decades, he had led the charge in battle, and now, after more than a century, he barely seemed beyond middle age. Most Suit wearers either died on the battlefield or experienced burnout. Jarway had felt the signs of burnout and the neurodegeneration creeping in, so he had wisely yielded the Suit to a new Choosing before it became too late.

Jarway then voiced a concern, "The Choosing will be soured if the Prophet has truly faded."

Sephilous agreed, "It is a tricky business indeed. The Prophet has been a presence since the new founding of our city, present even before The Before. If it has indeed vanished, this is a harrowing development, leaving the people unsettled."

Jarway somberly added, "All the more reason a wild orb would have raised our spirits."

Sephilous was about to speak when the large doors at the end of the room suddenly opened, and guards entered, interrupting their conversation.

The tower guards, armed with auto rifles, were a testament to the higher Order level within the tower. Behind them, flanked by more guards, a skinny man in a strange white coat entered the room. Jarway observed the stranger and mused how his coat resembled, albeit distantly, the robes of a priest. The resemblance raised Jarway's curiosity, making him wonder if the man's arrival was in any way connected to the recent developments.

Jarway watched the guards approaching, and he couldn't help but notice the man's furtive, crazed, and confused eyes. He considered the information from the reports – this man was seen leaving the temple shortly before the Prophet's disappearance was discovered. Jarway wanted to uncover any possible connection between the stranger and the unsettling events. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that the man seemed either like a zealous fanatic or a madman, which only served to make Jarway more cautious and wary.

The guards came to a halt before Jarway and Sephilous, their duty now solely to guard and watch over this new, mysterious man. Under normal circumstances, they would have knelt in reverence, but today was far from normal. When Clive failed to appropriately kneel, one of the guards shoved him, prompting him to quickly understand his current situation. Clive attempted to show respect, remaining still and keeping his head down.

Jarway scrutinized him and began talking, "Reports say that you were the last person seen before our Prophet disappeared. It is a grave day for Denver. Today was supposed to be a feast day in honor of the Prophet, a market day for the people. Instead, they are gripped by panic and fear."

Clive raised his head and eventually found the courage to stand, struggling for words, mumbling in response. Jarway, adopting a firmer tone, insisted the man explain himself.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here? You have a strange accent, and your clothes are unusual. Are you some kind of priest or a missionary?"

Clive started to find his footing, though fear and confusion still weighed down his voice.

Clive, still nervous and confused, hesitantly began to speak, "I... I don't know when or where I am exactly. I'm just a lab tech, working on a project, and suddenly, I found myself here. I don't know anything about this Prophet you speak of."

Jarway responded firmly, his curiosity piqued, "What do you mean by 'lab tech'?"

Clive tried to explain, "A lab tech, short for laboratory technician, is someone who works in a scientific laboratory, conducting experiments and research."

Jarway didn't fully understand, but he had a vague sense that this man might be associated with arcane knowledge or advanced technology. Growing more interested in Clive, Jarway inquired, "What is your name, stranger?"

Clive continued, his expression and eyes still giving the impression of a madman, "My name is Clive. I... I don't know what's happening or who any of these people are. I'm so confused. I just want to go home... if I'm not just hallucinating all of this."

Jarway, although not following much of Clive's explanation, asked, "And where exactly are you from?"

Clive replied, "Denver, but not a Denver like this... My Denver has cars and skyscrapers, no swords, no prophets."

Overwhelmed, Clive started to sob and hyperventilate.

Jarway, unimpressed with Clive's display of distress but intrigued by his words, turned to Sephilous. Quietly he said, "The lunatic sounds like he is describing the world before the Fall."

"A mad man, my lord, he's rambling. Look at him cowering, he hardly seems to know where he is."

"There's something off about him, but I don't know if it's madness. He's soft, to be sure..." Jarway stared, humming lowly to himself again. His pupils narrowed, his mind worke

As he pondered, a guard approached Jarway, handing him a small sack. The guard explained, "M'lord, these are the items we confiscated from the prisoner."

Jarway inspected the items in the sack, finding them quite peculiar. In time, he recognized one as a flashlight, although its craftsmanship was unlike anything he had seen. Curious, he asked Clive, "Where did you acquire such a fine item?"

Clive replied, still dazed, "BestBuy."

Jarway furrowed his brow, "What is BestBuy?"

Clive tried to explain, "BestBuy is... It's a store where you can buy all sorts of electronic items and gadgets. It's a place in my world where these kinds of things are common."

Jarway began to understand some of what Clive said, intrigued by the notion of acquiring treasures like these. "And where might I find this BestBuy?" he asked.

Clive, breaking down further, sobbed, "It's... It's supposed to be right here, just a few blocks from the temple."

Jarway continued to examine the items in the sack, producing a black, shiny slate about the size of his hand with buttons on the side. He pressed one of the buttons, and the screen lit up. While he had seen screens before, a handheld one like this was extremely rare. He looked back at Clive, "What is this?"

Clive attempted to explain, "This is my phone – it's called a smartphone."

Seeing Jarway's confused expression, Clive tried to clarify further, "You see, a smartphone is a device in my world that serves multiple purposes. It's primarily a communication tool, allowing us to call or send messages to people no matter their location. But it's so much more than that."

He continued passionately, "A smartphone has a little computer inside that can perform many tasks. We can access something called the internet, which gives us information about almost everything we can imagine. It helps us navigate our way through cities, find places to eat, shop, and even entertain ourselves. We use it to take photos and videos, listen to music, and even play games. A smartphone is a small, powerful device that connects us to everything around us."

Jarway could barely grasp the concept of a smartphone as Clive explained its many functions. He continued to poke at the screen, marveling at how it responded to his touch. Setting the phone aside, he picked up a multitool and figured out its functions, admiring the craftsmanship. After setting it aside, he was struck with awe upon seeing car keys.

Jarway had seen car keys before in a museum – a relic from The Before, but these were new-looking, not the crumbling relics he was familiar with. Shaking slightly, he asked Clive, "What are these?"

Clive named them and went on to explain, "These are car keys. In my world, they are used to unlock and start a car, it's a vehicle for transportation. Cars have engines that run on fuel, and they can travel great distances at high speeds. They're a common means of transportation, allowing people to move around their cities and even travel across the country."

Jarway was aware of the concept of cars – they did have some functioning in areas of high Order, but these areas were limited at the moment. His suspicion grew, as the man seemed to be from The Before, yet that was impossible. Jarway wondered whether Clive might be genuine or just a trickster.

Determined to uncover the truth, Jarway probed Clive, "Where are you really from?"

Clive, breaking down further, recounted his experiences, "I was working in my lab, testing a field. I ignored the safety precautions like a cocky idiot. Bret warned me, but I didn't listen... Then suddenly, in a blink, I found myself standing in a strange stone room. When I ventured outside, it was madness – no cars, no blacktop, just dust, mud houses, swords, and horses. I couldn't understand what happened."

His voice grew more desperate, "And then I was brought here to this tower, where there are electric lights and air conditioning... I fear I'm losing my mind."

The details in Clive's story and his undeniable distress gave Elder Jarway reason to consider the possibility that he was, in fact, telling the truth.

Jarway understood that the idea was incredibly unlikely, but if this man truly was from The Before, he might possess knowledge that could change the course of battles, help them gain control of the orbs, and possibly even secure the empire they so desperately sought.

Jarway cautiously approached Clive, "I am intrigued by you, but you are in no state to continue this conversation, in tears and babbling like a child. I suggest you rest now. I'll have my attendants help you relax and settle in, and we can talk further tomorrow."