Explosions filled the air, sending many of the young children seeking the few adults for comfort. The large room shook slightly, the northernmost wall growing several small cracks, dropping shattered stone to the floor. The few adults looked at each other with panic clear on their faces, despite their efforts to hide their fear from the children.
Near the tail end of the crowd of children stood a tall, yet young looking teenager, white hair and furred ears ruffled by the far too short pat from his mother. She leaned in, giving him a short kiss on the cheek, before speaking her last words. “Goodbye, Bast. You must stay strong, and never lose hope, nor your smile. Smile for me, my son, as I leave you now. Smile for the hope that tomorrow will bring prosperity and joy.” Ever the loyal son, Bast forced a smile on his face, even as silent tears flowed down his cheeks. A small sniffle escaped him as he watched his mother disappeared up the stairs, returning to the fight he had been denied, a fight none would return from. Though he wore the metal armor and weapons of his kind, battle magics ready in mind, he had been denied his right to defend his people to his last breath. The words of the Lord Errant left a lump fear and hopelessness deep in his stomach, his knees barely kept from shaking. The fear warred with his willpower, threatening to turn the silent tears into fully fledged sobs. Yet he kept his calm, years of training keeping him together, if just barely. He had to stay calm, for the children, and for himself.
Threatened once again by the human Templars, they would be forced to flee, but this time, there were few places to retreat, and not nearly enough room for everyone. And the realization made reality all that more cruel, as he wished desperately to give his place to another, and join in the last defense of his home, but there was no choice. There must be young warriors in those that were hidden, capable of both birthing and training the next generations. For there would be no glorious return, not without the force of arms necessary to force through the Templar’s Iron Wall, and make themselves known to humanity once again.
With a wipe of his sleeve, Bast stirred up his remaining courage, and stepped into the small pentagram that was now vacated, its previous occupant sent to what was hoped to be the most secretive place possible. And that place was the very Earth we longed to return to. Though he did not know how this was possible, he had been informed that a human guide would await him, and explain all. The worry of whether a human could be trusted just added more fuel to the unease that filled him, but with a flash, and the feeling of the floor ripped from beneath him, Bast found himself in a white world, one that slowly bled colors from the corners, turning the white room into a grey, jail-like room, one with only a single door, a chair, and a large, silver dome. In the chair sat the promised human guide.
With a final sniff, Bast finally readied himself for what was to come. The memories of the past were forced into a corner of his mind, for now was the time of action, and of caution. His hand moved to his sword hilt as he eyed the human, waiting for the man to make the first move. Whether blood would stain the grey floors would be left up to the human. Bast prayed the man gave him any reason to justify his death, for a sickening anger filled him, the sight of so many dead companions still eerily fresh in his mind. But no, he must obey the Lord Errant. He must obey this !human!, so long as he proved trustworthy. If such a thing were possible for the filthy creatures.
Unfortunately, the man gave no sign of aggression, his hands held out placatingly, his face a sad grimace, one with a few tears of its own. The expression somewhat disarmed Bast, his own tears still fresh on his face. The human spoke quietly, almost whispering. “Hello, Bast. I am sorry. Truly I am. And I wish I could give you the time you deserve to calm yourself, but this place is not safe.”
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The boy nodded dully, tears returning again despite his efforts to remain calm and collected. The man stood, and though Bast relaxed, his hand stayed near his sword, and a chant on his tongue, ready to unleash his fury in an instant. “Before we send you onward, I must explain several things. As you know, we are on Earth. However, that is not where you will be staying. It is a bit complicated, but you will be placed in a location built by humanity, a realm for their entertainment. None of the world is real, only those humans entering the realm being genuine, living beings. It is a place for the militant to practice their skills, to relax, and to satiate that hidden urge to battle, and to claim victory. Do you understand me so far?”
Again, Bast responded with just a nod. The man let out a tired sigh, before continuing. “This realm has many rules that differ from the ones you are familiar with, but when you first enter, a guide, calling themselves the Tutorial Master, will brief you on the basics. You will be able to ask them questions about the realm, and you must, for there are many rules inside, ones that the Tutorial Master will assume you already understand, lest you ask about them. Again, do your best to gain as much knowledge as possible during the time you spend with the Master. Lastly, we must discuss who you are now. Bast Lithbraen‘aela Feryr, you are now Bast Robertson. You are human, and have lived your whole life in a place called Armyr, and understand neither the rules of society, nor the ways of their magics and technology. You must NEVER reveal your true identity to anyone other than one COMPLETELY proven to be one of us, and only then in the most dire of circumstances. Do you have all of that? Repeat it back to me, please.”
The man was long-winded, and there was much to remember, but Bast recalled all that was deemed vital, the man nodding again, a small smile replacing his tired expression. “Good job, Bast. We are proud of you. Now, you will be staying in that realm for several days, but you will receive a message from me soon, detailing how and when you will return. Now, we are extremely short on time, and there are many to assist. Please, follow me.” With those words, the man stepped up to the silver sphere, tapping its side. A quiet whine issued from the device, and a large section lifted itself, revealing the contents of the hollow sphere. Inside lay a black chair, one with a large helmet floating above, held in place by many thick metal cables. Though Bast did not understand, it was clear where he was to go. With somber steps, he entered the strange contraption, seating himself carefully on the chair. It was soft and plush, something rare to find in his own world.
“Now, the helmet is going to place itself upon your head, and soon, you will find yourself in the new realm. Take care, Bast, and please, forgive us for the sins against your people.” With those final words, the man placed his hands on the side of the sphere, causing many whirring noises to emanate from the strange metallic innards of the sphere. The lid slowly began to close, the man already leaving the room. Bast kept very still as the helmet descended, adjusting its descent to perfectly align with his head. In moments, it covered him, exposing its strange, smooth interior. A few moments passed, long enough for the boy to grow worried, but soon enough, the world seemed to shift, much like the teleportation to Earth, but instead of bland whiteness, the world turned black, and thick, golden letters appeared before him, declaring in bold script; “Phasmia Online”. A new world awaited Bast, one filled with war, treachery, kindness and love. And maybe, just maybe, a world where he could meet his kind again, adrift in the sea of humanity.
-End