Leto 7th, 882 F.L.

(42 Years Ago)

In the softer hues of dusk, the Everalorn Sea shimmered like a sheet of beaten copper, each wave catching the last light of the day and holding it up like a salute to the evening stars just beginning to peep through the velvet sky. Sitting alone and ensconced in the warmth of Hubert's opulent castle balcony, Garrick found the view almost unnaturally beautiful, as if some overzealous painter had decided to show off just how many shades of orange and pink they could use.

The balcony itself was an exercise in extravagance only a castle could manage, sprawling enough to host a small army—or, in this instance, an intimate gathering of the closest and most unusual comrades one could amass during a particularly adventurous decade. The stone balustrades were cold to the touch, a sharp contrast to the warm air that carried the salty whispers of the sea up to where they sat.

As the sun dipped lower, casting its final golden glances over the world, the unmistakable sound of laughter and clinking dishes announced the arrival of his friends. One by one, they emerged onto the balcony, each carrying a dish or, in Ronald's case, probably something potently alcoholic. The ensemble was nothing if not eclectic: Vash, with his ever-mischievous grin; Ronald, whose brutal warrior attire belied his festive spirit; Carver, already telling a joke to a chuckling Mortimer; Violeta, her eyes twinkling with secret mirth; Calliope, who carried with her a flute just in case the night called for music; and Hubert, whose castle they commandeered for the evening, beaming like a host who'd just won a hospitality award.

But it was Albright, the dolorously dispositioned hobgoblin, who stole the show. Clad in his usual drab ensemble that screamed 'funeral' rather than 'festivity,' he bore a cake so cheerfully contradictory to his nature that Garrick couldn't help but laugh. The cake, robust and gleefully iced, boasted a single candle that flickered like a tiny lighthouse atop a sea of frosting. Emblazoned across it in bold, sugary letters was the number 30—a number Garrick felt both a kinship with and a mild dread of.

"Happy Birthday, Garrick!" they chorused, the words bouncing off the stone and out over the sea, likely confusing a few seagulls along the way.

Garrick shook his head, his smile one of embarrassment and genuine delight.

"You guys didn't have to do something like this for me—you don't even celebrate birthdays in Dova," he protested, his voice tinged with amusement.

Already helping himself to a preemptive slice of cake, Carver chuckled heartily.

"Any excuse for cake is a holiday in my book, real or invented," he said, waving a fork with such enthusiasm it was a wonder the cake made it to his mouth.

"I'll eat to that," Garrick said sincerely.

I wonder if this is my actual birthday, Garrick mused. I just picked a date that seemed to line up the best to the twenty-first of April.

Without further ado, the companions began to feast upon the fruits of a day's labor.

As the last light of day faded, the air above the balcony shimmered, warping like the surface of a wind-molested sand dune. Suddenly, with the faintest sound of tearing silk, a portal snapped open, and through it tumbled a figure in a spectacularly ungraceful display of acrobatics. Claudette, elf of unparalleled agility in most circumstances, landed with a comic thud on the cool stones of the balcony, quickly righting herself with a flourish as if that was the most usual way of appearing one could entertain.

"'Grats on getting older, Garrickton," she declared, dusting off her cloak with a nonchalance that only those who regularly fell from other dimensions could muster. "Though I don't really see the point of this—can't you just wait for Nameday? That's when the rest of us do it."

"I told them the same thing this morning," Garrick replied, his amusement evident as he gestured to the festive assembly. "But as usual, no one listens to me."

"Either way," Claudette shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "My sister says hello—wonders when you'll be 'round again to let her catch a glimpse of that handsome smile."

She paused.

"She said that, not me. I think you look a bit like a mangy dog."

"Always a pleasure, Claudette," Garrick retorted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a semi-smile.

"Aw. You're welcome, Garricktenstein," she said, using yet another pet name on him. "Got a gift for you."

Their banter was interrupted by Vash, who, never missing an opportunity to be a bit of a rube, suggested, "Gift, she says? Caution, Garrick! Claudette's never been anything less than perfectly prickly. I would wager it is a bouquet full of thistles—or a hat full of knives."

Claudette raised a finger, and with a flick, an orb of light zipped at Vash. He ducked, the orb missing him by a hair's breadth, and landed in an exaggerated sprawl across one of the ornate chairs.

"See?" he called from the floor. "Prickly."

"Really, must you make such a scene?" Hubert chided, his tone imbued with the kind of regal decorum that made even his complaints sound like pronouncements. "Please, watch where you cast your Chants, Claudette—some of the artifacts in here are exceedingly expensive."

Carver, seizing the opportunity, smirked.

"Blimey, that's everything, though, ain't it, Hubert?"

"What is this, now?" Hubert asked, already sounding haughtily offended.

"You're loaded, friend," Carver said.

"I am not," Hubert bristled. "I have but a slice of the Province's wealth. What makes you think I am..."

He paused, pronouncing the next word like it was rotten and he'd just taken an accidental bite out of it.

"...loaded?"

"Well, you're not exactly plumbing the depths of your treasury, are you?" Carver continued. "Rooms full of jewels, wormsilk bedsheets transported from Gonlan—back by the fountain in the courtyard, I'm pretty sure I saw a toad waddling around wearing a tiny diamond monocle."

"If anything's ever worth breaking," Violeta chimed in, her voice melodious and teasing, "it's in the pursuit of putting Vash in his place."

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Claudette sighed and withdrew a chain from her neck.

"In any case," she said. "A small token to celebrate this bizarre tradition."

"Ah, a gift from the bosom—" Vash began, but Claudette raised her finger again, and he quieted.

Then she returned to Garrick and offered the item to him, which he accepted hesitantly. Vash's comments weren't entirely off the mark. Typically, when Claudette gave someone something, it had a penchant to go awry.

Like that 'bracelet of courage' that continually tightened when my heart rate increased.

Garrick examined the item Claudette had handed him: a tortoiseshell necklace. The craftsmanship was exquisite, carved from what appeared to be deep green jade and some manner of pearlescent blue stone, inlaid with tiny flecks of gold that caught the candle's light flickering on the remainder of the cake.

"What's this then?" Garrick inquired, holding the necklace up to the light, intrigued by its subtle glow.

"I noticed you use a lot of astara when Chanting Flicker Jump," Claudette explained, her tone casual as if she were discussing the weather rather than bestowing a magical artifact. "So, I made you this."

Garrick raised an eyebrow.

"How does it work?"

"It's designed to cast Flicker Jump on its own, using self-replenishing astara," she elaborated with a slight smile. "Consider it a backup for when you're running low."

Garrick nodded appreciatively, slipping the necklace around his neck. "Thank you, Claudette. This could really come in handy."

His attention was momentarily drawn away from the gift as he noticed that the portal through which Claudette had arrived was still gaping open, a swirl of roaring fires visible on the other side, reminiscent of descriptions of hell from his old world.

"Isn't it a bit…risky to leave that open?" he asked, an edge of concern in his voice as he gestured toward the still-open portal.

Already halfway to the drinks cabinet in Hubert's lavishly decorated lounge, Claudette shrugged nonchalantly.

"Probably," she called back over her shoulder.

Garrick frowned, staring at the portal.

"Shouldn't we close it, then?"

From the other room, Claudette's voice floated back, slightly muffled by the clink of glass and the uncorking of a bottle.

"Knock yourself out."

"Guh…how?" Garrick's voice held a hint of exasperation, not entirely sure whether she was joking.

"It's easy," Claudette started to explain, her voice trailing off as she reentered the balcony, a glass of something dark and amber in her hand. "All you have to do is…"

---

Somrstad 12th, 924 F.L.

(Present)

"Now, Tadanius! Close the rift!" Garrick commanded, urgency coloring his voice as he gestured towards the gaping maw of the portal.

Tad looked confused, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. "H-how do I close someone else's portal?" he asked, his voice wavering with doubt.

Garrick sighed, but his determination was unyielding.

"It's not technically someone else's portal, Tad. You provided the means of opening it in the first place. Just reach out and command the rift like you would one of your own. Force it closed," he explained, his tone firm but reassuring.

Tad hesitated, uncertainty clouding his usually confident demeanor. But with a nod of acknowledgment, he steeled himself and reached out towards the rift, his fingers trembling slightly with the weight of the task ahead.

Meanwhile, the hobgoblins, realizing their dire mistake, scattered in every direction, their panicked screams echoing through the chamber as they sought to escape the wrath of the plane devourer.

Garrick turned his attention to Dashiell, who was watching the scene unfold with a furrowed brow. Meeting Garrick's gaze, Dashiell seemed to understand the unspoken directive.

"Keep them alive, but do not let them escape!" the young Montrose commanded, his voice booming over the turmoil, asserting control over the situation. The rest of the Golden Lion sprang into action.

Fran and Georgina worked in tandem, Fran casting Chants that hemmed the hobgoblins in with walls of quick-moving raindrops while Georgina hurled her yarn into the air, her threads of astara activating, weaving nets that fell from above like silken traps. Kufko, his presence a blur, darted among the fleeing creatures, herding them back toward the center of the chamber with swift, non-lethal, clawless palm strikes designed to incapacitate rather than harm.

Back at the rift, Tad's concentration was borderline manic. His brow furrowed in focus, he seemed to be mentally wrestling with the portal, his gestures growing more forceful as he sought to impose his will upon it. Several times, Garrick witnessed him snapping his wrists as though holding an invisible whip. The air around the young man shimmered with the force of his effort, the tendrils of his mantle glowing brightly as he tapped into his reserves of astara.

After a long moment, he turned to Garrick, clear defeat painting his handsome face.

"Nada, captain," he said.

"Are you unable to perform it the same way as you do with yours?"

"No," Tad said. "When I close my own portals, I just sorta…release the power I was holding?"

That last part came out like a question.

Garrick started.

"Wait…" the old man said carefully. "You're maintaining the astara to hold your portals open rather than fixing them with the Chant itself?"

Now, looking like he was about to get a tongue-lashing, Tad nodded once hesitantly.

My these young upstarts are wasteful, he considered. But, I suppose if no one ever trained them properly, then how would they know? I shouldn't act so surprised, or he'll lose confidence. I can salvage this.

"Very impressive!" Garrick declared, smiling. "You must have a deep well of astara to do something like that. But, let's move on…"

Garrick tried to think back; what would aid this man in this circumstance? He couldn't physically help him, for his astara was long gone. He'd never been that proficient at Temporal astara, either. That was always Claudette's field.

Think, he told himself. How had Claudette explained it?

"Just think of it as folding a map," Garrick said, the memory surfacing with clarity. "When a portal is open, imagine it's the map all spread out—to see all the paths. Navigation. Closing it is just folding it back up, putting everything neatly away where it belongs."

Tad looked puzzled for a moment.

"I just... fold it back?" he asked, sounding unsure.

"Exactly," Garrick encouraged. "You've already chosen the destination, marked the spot, and now you just need to fold the map back up and stuff it in the glove box. Imagine pulling the edges of this reality back together, sealing what should never have been parted."

"But…uh," Tad said, looking around. Time was short enough already without an impromptu academic lecture, and Garrick was growing concerned.

I am not in any mood to be fist-fighting a planar monstrosity.

"What is it, Tad?" Garrick asked.

"I'm…not familiar with…folded maps," he said sheepishly. "I've seen them before, like, when I was a kid—or, for instance, at a truck stop. But I've never used them."

Garrick almost collapsed with the weight of this reveal.

"You haven't…" he sputtered. "But you've been here…"

He took a breath. Clearly, whatever was going on on the other side—Earth, that was—they didn't have a need for paper maps any longer. That was understandable. Times changed. However, in this world, maps were ubiquitous and very often folded up.

Just what have you been up to since you've been here, Tadanius? How have you been getting around?

He shook his head.

Focus, Garrick, he chided himself. What's another good analogy?

"It's like closing a pair of doors—or a double door," Garrick said, terrified to use the term "French door" lest the boy say he'd never been to Paris or something similar.

"Oh!" Tad exclaimed. "Oh, oh, oh! I think I get it now!"

Garrick felt relief wash over him and privately hoped the boy hadn't misunderstood "double door" as something else.

A loud roar echoed from within the rift. The plane devourer was on its way back—and sounded close.

"That is your cue," Garrick said, nodding to the rift urgently. "Not to put too fine a point on it, Mr. Tadanius, but I think we've reached the apex of our horseplay time."

Tad nodded resolutely.

Apparently bolstered by Garrick's time-sensitive guidance (and likely due to having a multi-dimensional nightmare monster hot on his heels), the other worlder pushed harder. He made a pinching motion with his thumb and index finger at first and then tried with every fingertip he had. The rift began to quiver under his command, the edges starting to flicker and wane as if struggling to maintain its form.

"Come on, Tadanius, you've got this!" Garrick shouted, lending his voice to the effort, an ancient cheerleader for the critical moment.

With a determined thrust of energy, Tad's expression hardened, and the rift shuddered violently before beginning to collapse in on itself.

"I'm doing it!" he shouted triumphantly.

"You are indeed, my boy!" Garrick declared, beaming proudly.

Tad smiled back at him.

"I'm just—"

That was when the plane devourer's hand launched through the rift and grabbed Tad around the head.