ALBION
I almost expect him to reach out and touch my face because I can see in his eyes that he notices this subtle difference too and wants to understand it more. His curiosity unsettles me. Has this peasant never seen anyone beyond this forest? Judging by his skin and features, he’s not from Elbak or the North, and since he doesn’t respond when I say, “Hello, who are you?”—only giving a brief sign of acknowledgment—my hypothesis seems confirmed.
An indigenous native? Several tribes live in the forest and its outskirts, some nomadic peoples or even small towns lost between the thick woods and the vast marshes stretching far to the south. Yet, that doesn’t explain why he’s here or his connection with the Bavils.
Stranger still, he doesn’t utter a word, as if he’s afraid to speak—or perhaps incapable. I turn to Lyrel; she surely knows more about the forests than I do:
— “Lyrel, come look at this guy.”
She approaches, her sharp gaze scrutinizing the silent man. She examines his clothes, his gestures, then narrows her eyes, clearly intrigued.
— “I don’t know, Albion. I’ve never seen humans like him.”
I nod, my survival instincts kicking in.
— “Why isn’t he speaking?”
Lyrel leans in closer, her eyes almost brushing against his face without touching him.
— “Maybe he’s traumatized. Or… maybe he’s scared.”
That would make sense. This poor guy, kidnapped like us by these damn metal creatures in the middle of his forest. Maybe he came from the South with a group to observe the aftermath of the fire rain? Perhaps he got trapped just like us by these abominations.
Those waiting near the entrance still don’t move.
— “What are we supposed to do?” shouts one of my frustrated comrades nearby. I turn away from the miserable man and approach the Bavils. We need to negotiate, understand what they want from us, and why they’re here, so far from their lands.
Moving through the moss-filled cave, dodging my comrades—some still slumped over—isn’t easy. My head is still spinning. This place isn’t natural; even its structure was obviously excavated. The marks on the walls and ceiling don’t lie, the geometry is strange, the angles too perfect—so precise even dwarves would struggle to create something like this.
The knot in my stomach tightens again. I want to be in Benamire. I should’ve stayed in my inn room, sharing the bed with Lyrel—I’m sure she would’ve said yes—but even alone, wrapped in sheets, on a mattress softer than this cursed moss, would’ve been enough.
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“Hello?” I try as I stand face-to-face with a dozen metallic statues, their only sign of life the strange glow emanating from them. I feel no life force from them, no trace of magic, which only unsettles me further. Still, I force myself to stand tall, to show those I led here that I’ll do whatever it takes to get us out. I need to know why the Bavils are here and why they’re keeping us captive.
One of the statues raises its hand—I think it’s going to hit me. But it simply salutes me. At least, I think that’s what it is. It’s somewhat similar to one of our greetings and doesn’t seem hostile. Does it even understand me? Saluting after abducting us is absurd—it doesn’t make sense. Yet, I return the gesture. What else can I do?
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ADMIRAL
I’m still baffled by this man who looked at me, who spoke to me. The feeling is strange and unsettling—seeing someone up close. Yes, he’s just a peasant, a miserable inhabitant of this world where I crashed, where my ship was… mysteriously teleported. But he’s alive, more alive than anything I’ve seen since… well, since the Orio K-2 station’s departure. Tears almost well up—no, I’m exaggerating—but the emotion stirs so many memories, so many things from before.
It’s different from seeing them through cameras, observing them secretly, my droids lurking in the shadows, and my VR goggles glued to my face. Maybe part of me desperately craved this contact, and that impulse drove my irrational urge to mingle with them despite the uncertainties and questions. They vanished for a moment when that creature with pointed ears approached me. She’s vastly different, undeniably less human than the man. Yet, she’s so beautiful—delicate features, pointed ears…
They both turn away from me before Leia can translate anything coherent—or offer any awkward response. Maybe that’s for the best, and I’m relieved they don’t seem hostile… for now. Their focus shifts to the other side of the cave, where my droids—Leia informs me they seem to call them “Bavils”—stand guard. They’re there, motionless, silent sentinels, following only my AI orders.
I need to isolate myself, talk to her briefly, ask if any living colonists have been recovered, if any intact pods have been found. But the priority is earning this group’s trust, integrating with them. So that’s what I do. I follow the faint footprints left in the moss by the man’s steps. He’s speaking to the droids. I expect them to remain completely still, but to my surprise, one responds with a small gesture—asking him to step back.
I think he misunderstands, responding with another gesture, almost as if he’s greeting it. I move closer. The droid does too, about to push the man. I grab his shoulders and gently pull him back. He seems surprised but doesn’t resist, likely realizing he was about to get hit. The droid stops and returns to its position.
The man looks at me, slightly bewildered by my intervention. Others around us, already tense from the droid’s movement, seem ready to pounce on me.
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ALBION
These damn Bavils clearly don’t follow the same courtesy rules we do—they were about to hit me even as I greeted one. But then someone grabs me from behind and pulls me back. Groboln? No, too energetic. Lyrel? No, stronger. I turn around.
It’s that strange man. The droid seems satisfied that I’ve stepped back and returns to its position. I raise my eyebrows, surprised. My comrades tense up, also wondering who this guy is. I’m about to greet him, but if he interprets it like the Bavils did, I’ll be annoyed. So, I simply say:
— “Albion,” pointing to myself.