Four people walked in a line, following the small valley formed between two tall hills. They were alert, scanning their surroundings, but evidently not overly so; they seemed happy enough to chat away, their voices echoing through the quiet and up to Lucas’ vantage point on a hilltop above.

Second in the procession was a man decked out in thick plate armour that looked heavy; it clanked and scraped together with every moment, and every step he took reverberated with a thud so deep Lucas swore it was shaking the ground. In contrast with his intimidating outfit, he had a friendly grin, and he seemed uncaring about his long black hair blowing wildly around his face.

“What makes you say that, Jyn?” were the first coherent words Lucas managed to make out, the voice a gravelly boom. The echo had made the group’s conversation unintelligible while they were further away, but the deep voice had been by far the most active of the four.

“It’s a question of proof, Wick,” replied a thin-voiced man in a deep magenta robe with a starry pattern. The robe was loose and airy, and the hood obscured the upper half of his face, but enough was visible to see his painted blue lips were smiling. “Despite practising the mystic arts, I am a scholar at heart, and if I see no evidence of a phenomenon through my own eyes, I’m inclined to disbelieve it by my nature.”

“Good thing we decided not to bring a cleric with us,” Wick, the armoured man, said with a chuckle. “As it is, I think our Skycloak may run you through the back if you’re not careful.”

“I’m plenty acquainted with sceptics, thank you,” said the figure at the back of the line, a woman with platinum blond hair tied in a braid, wearing gleaming white armour only just visible beneath the long blue cloak she was apparently known by. Hers was the husky voice, and her accent was more refined than the others, enunciated like she was in no rush to make her point. She was watching their surroundings with distant serenity.

“Yeah, somehow I don’t doubt that,” said the last of the group, her voice sweet as a bell. A short, light-footed woman at the head of the line wearing only a black shirt, black trousers, and sock-like boots, she seemed to bound along with endless energy, flitting ahead of the group before coming back every few seconds. Every step seemed to take her further than it should, and barely disturbed the grass in comparison to her companions. She held a short bow in one hand, while the other never strayed from the quiver of many-coloured arrows hanging from her black belt. Her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail.

Lucas was lying at the top of the hill, tense with indecision. It was an overcast day, but the shiver running through his body could only partially be blamed on the cold.

He’d intended to get their attention and introduce himself immediately upon arriving atop the hill, but paranoia had reared its fanged head and dug poisoned teeth into his brain, injecting him with dark thoughts: what if they were allied with the people who’d brought him here? If he ran up and claimed to have been snatched from another world, would he immediately find himself imprisoned for study? Even if they weren’t, what guarantee did he have that they’d be friendly? Claiming to be a dimensional traveller could find him branded a heretic or something.

So he’d settled down to wait and watch and see what he could learn by listening in on their conversation, and quickly felt too awkward to approach. It hadn’t even occurred to him that they might not speak English until their words reached him just now. They spoke a language he’d never heard before, full of rolling syllables and throaty vowels, their words blurring together in a confusing soup.

As it turned out, it didn’t matter.

Somehow, he understood every word of it.

Jamie, who was deeply displeased that Lucas had moved towards the unfamiliar voices after he’d gone through the effort to warn his minion of the potential danger, strongly disapproved of the situation and wanted him to run the other way. The not-cat’s opinion of Lucas’ intelligence had lowered drastically, and Lucas couldn’t blame him. He was questioning it himself.

Mostly because a part of him still deeply longed to approach the group. Lucas leaned more towards introvert than extrovert, but he’d long since used up his tolerance for being alone without any human contact. A few days alone was usually enough to charge up his social battery, and at this point he felt like he was overflowing with the desire to just exist in the vicinity of other people.

“Now now, Rena,” Wick said with a hint of reprimand. “Did we not agree to put our disagreements aside for the sake of this quest?”

Rena clicked her tongue, hopping forward a few metres and turning to walk backwards. “I’m not the one talking about scepticism right in front of a Skycloak. Given our destination, don’t you think you two are the ones being provocative here, if anyone?”

The hooded man chuckled. “I have no quarrel with the Order, if that’s what you mean to imply. If refusing to believe certain details of the legend of the Lost City until I see them with my own eyes is enough to cause offence, I would advise our dear companion to grow thicker skin. Skycloaks can’t afford to get upset any time someone questions an old story. Why, they’d spend all their days miserable!”

“I assure you, Wandmaster, your opinion means nothing to me,” the Skycloak said.

“Now now,” Wick said again, frowning now.

At the front of the line, Rena turned back ahead, so the others couldn’t see her smile.

Jyn, the robed man, glanced at the Skycloak over his shoulder. “If my opinion means nothing, perhaps facts will. Those who enter the Lost City do not leave.”

“Have you observed this with your own eyes?” the Skycloak said. Lucas was getting a little peeved they hadn’t given a name to go with the face yet. Thinking of her as the Skycloak felt rude.

“Well played,” Jyn said with a chuckle. “All right, how about this one: There are no records of anyone surviving an excursion into the Lost City.”

“Better,” said the Skycloak, eyeing him neutrally. The group was moving closer to Lucas’ position, and he could just about make out the elaborate engravings in her moonlight-white armour, swirling patterns radiating out from a circle at the centre of the breastplate and rippling all across the metal. In the middle of the circle was a simple symbol, one he'd seen back at the village: a sword. “But I want to see it with my own eyes,” she added.

“Oh? And there’s not a hint of desperation to this quest?” Rena said at the head of the group, still facing ahead. Her smile was growing.

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“The Order’s affairs are not your concern.”

“I’m not hearing a no there, Swordmaiden.”

Lucas stifled a groan. What was with all the nicknames for this woman? Did they not actually know her name?

“I see no reason to give you any answer, Bowmaiden,” the Skycloak said calmly.

“Ah yes, sharing information with your comrades? What a silly thing to do!” Rena said, shaking her head. Her smile was so wide now it surely hurt. “You know, Skycloaks aren’t usually this reticent. Your people aren’t as sure in their beliefs as they once were, and I’ve heard a few interesting things in recent times.”

“I’m sure you have,” the Skycloak said.

Wick was looking between the two women slowly, his brow furrowed. Jyn was staring at Rena’s back with his lips pressed in a thin line.

“In fact,” Rena continued as if the Skycloak hadn’t spoken. “It seems rare to find a believer at all, these days. Why, I haven’t met a devotee who truly believes in the possibility of Lucas Brown’s arrival in years!”

Lucas jolted like an arrow had pierced through his heart and nailed him to the hillside. He let out a wheeze that seemed to evacuate all the air in his lungs, leaving him wrung out and feeling like he’d never be able to inhale again.

She couldn’t have just said what he thought she did. There was no way.

“I don’t fault people for losing hope in these times,” the Skycloak said, serene as a still lake. Her stoic expression hadn’t twitched even once.

“But you haven’t? Is there some special reason for that, Skycloak?”

All three turned to look at the Skycloak, unable to hide their desire to know her answer. Lucas looked at her too, with far more bafflement. With Jamie enhancing his vision through the bond, he saw the Skycloak roll her eyes.

“This is an exploratory mission. Fact finding, nothing more. The Order hasn’t sent a team to the Lost City in years.”

“Proving my point, wouldn’t you say?” Rena said with a note of triumph. She faced forward again, but her smile was gone. “Even the leadership of you Watchers don’t believe anymore, for Jai’s sake! It’s been a hundred years since their failed summoning. This mission is pointless.”

The Skycloak eyed her, taking her gaze off the surrounding hillside for the first time. “I’d like to verify the current situation with my own eyes.”

Jyn chuckled at that. “A scholarly Skycloak indeed.”

Wick joined in with a rumbling guffaw of his own. “What is it you hope to find, friend?”

“Hope, I suppose,” the Skycloak muttered softly.

“Hm? What was that?” He cupped his ear.

“I merely wish to study the site,” the Skycloak said, louder. “Think of it as a pilgrimage, if you must.”

Wick blinked, then shrugged, his heavy armour clanging with the movement. “If that is what you wish. Frankly, your reasons aren’t too important as long as you’re paying as you promised.”

“I keep my word.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The group lapsed into silence after that, and soon they’d round the corner at the end of the hill and pass out of Lucas’ sight. He’d be able to follow them using Jamie’s senses, of course, but he was struck with indecision.

The paranoia that had been seeping into his brain was threatening to overwhelm him, and maybe it wasn’t even appropriate to call it paranoia anymore. Lucas Brown, they’d said. His bloody name, unmistakeable. There was surely no way that was a coincidence. The archer, Rena, was clearly under the impression that the Skycloak or her order were searching for a man named Lucas Brown at a place called the Lost City—even odds that was the overgrown city he’d been dragged into.

What was unclear was why they wanted to find him, why he’d been dragged here in the first place. The fact that they had his name meant it had been targeted. They wanted him, specifically. He couldn’t fathom why. He was just some guy, average in every department, if you didn’t count the gift. And the gift was something that had only showed up when he arrived here, for fuck’s sake! Did they already know about it, somehow? Lucas thought about it for a moment. Could it be that they were the ones who’d given it to him, and now they wanted it back? Or somehow knew he had it wanted to use him for their own purposes?

If any of that was true, it would surely be better to avoid these people. They were exactly the kind of hostile magic users he’d been worried about. The man in the robe, Jyn, was the most obvious wizard to ever exist. Wick’s armour shook the ground when he walked; something heavy enough to do that was surely too heavy for a man to carry. Rena the Bowmaiden’s movement was distinctly supernatural. He hadn’t seen anything unusual from the Skycloak, but had no doubt there was something magical to her too.

If they found out who he was, there was no telling what they’d do.

That thought set Lucas' brain a-thinking, and a plan started to form.

Who said he had to introduce himself as Lucas Brown? Judging by the way they’d been talking, not everyone believed in the so-called Order’s cause, not even its own members, and the Bowmaiden in particular seemed mildly disdainful of it. A hundred years, they’d said. It was like he was a myth, a tale. All things considered, he was willing to bet they wouldn’t know what he looked like. They didn't seem to have reached 'photography' in their technological tree, and how would they get one of him if they had? The more he thought about it, the more confident he was.

The thing was, he needed answers. Directions. These people were the first real chance to get them he’d come across, and he had no idea when another opportunity might arise. He wasn’t sure he could afford to let it pass him by. Acting wasn’t his strong suit, but they’d have no reason to instantly suspect his true identity if the existence of Lucas Brown was so contested.

Worst came to worst, his plant magic could potentially get him out of the situation. It could buy him time to run away, at least. Trip them up with weeds around their ankles, or cut off their line of sight with clouds of pollen in their eyes, or turn the grass mushy and slippery somehow. Hell, maybe his stick technique would face a trial by fire. He wasn’t totally defenceless.

Lucas made his mind up. Jamie hissed in disapproval inside his breast as he leapt to his feet and sprinted down the hill at a diagonal, aiming to come around at the other side. He didn’t want to make it seem he was the one approaching them; it would be better to give them the impression he was a traveller headed in another direction to them who encountered them by chance in the countryside.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, he took a moment to catch his breath. The quartet’s conversation had lapsed, but their footsteps were still easily audible to him through Jamie’s enhancements, and he started walking in parallel to them, timing it so they’d spy each other from a distance at a dip between two hills.

His heart was in his throat, for more reasons than just fear of discovery. Slightly pathetically, a decent portion of his anxiety was devoted to potential embarrassment. His social skills had probably atrophied without use, and his mind was tripping over itself in its scramble to decide what he should say. For a moment, he was assaulted by scenarios of flubbing his introduction, fumbling his words or failing to speak their language at all, followed by rank humiliation where they all pointed and laughed at him, then forced him to come with them not because he was some test subject to be dissected, but because they wanted a bullying victim.

Momentum carried him forward more than conscious action. He’d committed to his course already, and his body was moving on autopilot while he internally freaked out about the upcoming confrontation. No backing out now.

By the time he rounded the corner and the group of four laid eyes on him, he wasn’t ready at all. He hadn’t even set up any plant magic. His stick was still in his sack.

Desperate to do something, he held up a hand in greeting and, to his horror, said the worst thing possible.

“What is up, my dudes?”