"Years ago, I was on a mission to stop pirates from smuggling magical weapons," Ethan begins. "I acted in the dead of night, concealed by a raging thunderstorm."

The spindle slows down as Sylas focuses on Ethan's words. "What kind of magical weapons?" he asks.

"The kind that can destroy a town the size of yours in an instant," Ethan answers. "The pirates were countless; I fought my way through their gargantuan ship to their leader. But he wasn't where I expected him to be. He took to a boat, but not without several magical weapons. One of them blew up, cutting the ship in half."

Ethan's gaze turns to his memories – the feeling of the glacial oceanic waters freezing his bones. He loses himself in the pain of being tossed around in the cargo ship's bowels.

"I woke up on the beach on an island; the remains of the ship were scattered on its sand," Ethan continues. "Amidst the sound of crashing waves, I heard yelps."

"You found him on an island," Sylas says as if he found the answer to a question.

"I think he was on the ship as well. He was crying along the body of his mother, who, I think, carried him as she swam in the storm," Ethan says. The memory fills his mind with sadness. "I buried her away from the beach, on solid ground."

The image brings a tear to Sylas's right eye. "How did you leave the island?" he asks.

"I was stuck there for a full year, amidst wild animals hell bent on eating us," Ethan says. "A few of the pirates survived too, but it would have been useless to reason with them."

"You survived a year on a deserted island alone?" Sylas exclaims. "No wonder you are so strong."

Ethan denies, "It wasn't fully deserted. I was lucky enough to find the remnants of other stranded individuals' shelter. It was extremely useful, especially early on."

Ethan's mind drifts to the memories of the shelter, built by stranded American soldiers at the end of World War two. The men wrote increasingly insane journals about their five years on the island.

"I kept sane thanks to him," Ethan says. "I trained him every day I could. And he saved me several times, as many times as I saved him."

"How did you get out of the island? Did you build a boat?" Sylas asks.

"The best I could have built would have been a raft. And I hadn't lost enough sanity to try it against the ocean," Ethan says. "A friend had been searching for me all this time, and after a year, she found me."

"She? I hope you married her after that," Sylas jests.

Ethan smirks. "Our relationship isn't like that," he says. "And right after I came home, a plague paralyzed it for nearly two years."

Sylas's face contorts in surprise. "What do you mean, paralyzed?"

"Our leaders ordered everyone to stay home unless absolutely necessary," Ethan explains. "The illness in itself wasn't that dangerous, but it spread like wildfire. Our hospices were overrun by old and unhealthy people, and it killed many of them."

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"I've never heard of this," Sylas says. "You must come from very far away."

'This world is huge, with several isolated landmasses,' Ethan thinks. 'He won't guess that I come from another one.'

"I won't get an answer, will I?" Sylas asks.

Ethan doesn't answer; he flips the vegetable and breaks the yolks to ensure everything is cooked.

"Why are you here? I mean on this continent," Sylas asks.

Ethan's expression hardens as he turns back to Sylas. "Beside the other soul in my body problem, I'm looking for a man."

Sylas raises an eyebrow. "Who is it?"

Ethan shakes his head. "I don't know for sure. All I have is a face and the fact that he rules over a country or a city."

Sylas leans back, his curiosity piqued. "Why are you looking for him? Is he someone you want to kill?"

Ethan pauses, flipping the vegetables and letting the sizzling sound fill the silence. Sylas watches him, waiting for an answer. Ethan finally says, "Why are you asking that?"

"Because you're a man who hasn't told me his name and who disappeared the second we stepped into Opal City. Without mentioning that you somehow changed your hair's color," Sylas says. "You don't want people to notice you. And you are often cold as ice, completely numb to others' feelings."

Ethan's jaw tightens at Sylas's words, the bluntness of his observations striking a chord. "I can't argue with that," Ethan says, his voice low. "But if you think I am a killer of sorts, why would you confront me here, in the middle of nowhere?"

A shiver travels along Sylas's neck. "I don't think you'll harm me," he says. "So, who is he? The man you're looking for?"

Ethan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "He's someone from my past. The person who killed my father when I was a child," Ethan answers, the confession lifting an invisible weight off his chest. "After twenty years without a hint as to who he was, the second soul in my body showed me a memory of him. He was giving a speech to his people, a crown of gold and rubies on his head."

Sylas's eyes widen. He glances around, trying to avoid looking at Ethan. "Are you able to communicate with the other soul? You could ask him where he saw that man and who he is."

"It happened when I was in a coma, just before I woke up in the monastery," Ethan says. "At the time, I must admit that it slipped my mind. But, thinking of it, I'm not sure he would tell me without asking for something in return."

Sylas shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. "You should at least try, if you get the occasion," he says. "I'm sorry you lost your father. I cannot understand how you must feel, and I won't pretend to judge you for it."

Ethan's eyes narrow as he spots an incoherence. "Didn't you tell me you lost your father?" he asks.

"He isn't dead, or at least I don't think he is," Sylas answers. "He was called to the Realm of Ascension nearly ten years ago. I like to think that he's still there or that he came back to a different part of the world."

"Ten years is a long time, but it isn't unheard of," Ethan says. He pulls out a book from his haversack and browses its pages. "It usually ranges from one hour to a few weeks, with most coming back after one or two days. But there are several reported cases of people who disappeared for decades or even centuries."

"How did they survive if centuries passed?" Sylas asks.

Ethan reads further and says, "For them, only a small amount of time passed. There isn't a relation between the time in the Realm of Ascension and the time here."

"Could I borrow your book?" Sylas asks.

"Sure," Ethan answers, handing him the book. "It needs to go back to the Chronicle Vault; it's in the upper city."

The smell of roasted hare fills the air, announcing its readiness. Ethan divides everything in three, using tree bark as makeshift plates. He hands his meal to Sylas and places Russ's on the ground. "Ok," he orders.

They eat in relative silence, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of leaves. Russ lifts his head between each bite, listening for any approaching threats.

They finish their meal as the fire dies down. Ethan moves to one of the rocks, in a position that allows him to keep watch over the clearing. Sylas follows suit, settling on the grass with his bag for a pillow.

Ethan lays down as Russ curls beside him. Ethan's body relaxes, but his mind stays vigilant. His eyes grow heavy, but he remains in the lightest of sleep, ready to wake up at the most insignificant, unnatural noise.