Merkes had porcelain skin, sunken cheeks, and the kind of perfectly neutral expression that seems to reflect yours and makes you want to keep on talking. He welcomed Fran with a normal Terran handshake and welcomed him to Mela in a soft, confident voice.

“It's a strange day for us too,” he said. “We've been here for a while but you found us on the most important Friday since our arrival. Today is the last day. And you might be the last traveler. The last dreamer.”

“Why?” asked Fran.

Merkes laughed.

“That's an impossible question! Why! I wish I knew how to answer. No one does, even though theories are worth a kul a dozen. Boring you with them is not part of my duties, I'm glad to say. You'll learn them from others in time. There’s other knowledge that you need to acquire urgently. Life-saving knowledge.”

“I already told him not to think he's in a video game,” said Alsu. “And Dalamaru explained that if you die, you die. No second chances.”

“That's a good start. Let me add some information to that, but first, here's something for you.”

Merkes reached into his belt and his hand emerged with a handful of shiny ochre and silver coins. A secret pocket!

“This should be enough for the week. That's how far you'll stay unless you sleep twelve-hour nights or something. Every Friday night, you'll be transported to Mela the moment your eyes close. Please don't ask me why again. The question your survival requires is how. We don't know the exact mechanism, but the more you sleep, the longer you spend in this land. A full night's sleep will keep you around for a week. Most try to stay longer, especially during the honeymoon period. It's a sure sign they won't last long. Beginner's mistakes, do you understand?”

Fran nodded.

“Don't try to use pills to sleep, they don't work. Only natural sleep will get you to Mela. And don't try to use them to avoid Mela either. A young corpse on your bed will be how it ends. Likewise, don't try to sleep deprive yourself to sleep longer on Friday night. It’s a beginners tactic. I’ve met a lot of people who did that but I couldn’t to introduce you to a single one of them anymore. Just let it happen. Once you do, make your time here count. Look at Raal! Look at Dalamaru! They're both the pride of the New Alliance.”

“Why do you call it that, the New Alliance, is it an adventurer's guild?”

Merkes frowned almost imperceptibly for a second.

“New world, New Alliance,” Raal said. “And it's not an adventurer's guild. It's the only support network you'll have in this world.”

“Very true, Raal,” said Merkes. “The New Alliance exists to protect newbies like you and defend Terrans. We know we're here for a reason, Fran. Our whole planet is shaken by the dream wave and nobody knows why. Well, we kind of do. It’s because the dreams will take you to Mela.”

“However, mentioning Mela back on Terra will kill you,” said Dalamaru. “You're only safe when talking to a fellow dreamer. Be extremely careful! There's no way of knowing who's who. And some people have shared more than they should.”

Merkes nodded.

“The dreams, the journey here. None of it is random, Fran. Terrans arrive here for a reason. The why you mentioned before, right? The goal of the New Alliance is to uncover the truth. Forget about adventures and dungeons. The fate of Earth is at stake, but that's all we know.”

“We'll soon start running out of time to find out,” said Alsu. “Tonight's the last week for new dreamers, the New Alliance is certain of that. Now starts the countdown to whatever will happen between Terra and Mela. I love it here, but I'm very sure that whatever happens won't be good for us. What if the dream reverses and orcs and daemons start pouring into Terra? That's what I believe will happen, personally. Paladins of chaos massacring millions in New York, life-hating necromancers unleashing thousands of wights and zombies on Paris and Tokyo. You told me before you're from Spain. From Madrid? I don't know that city, but imagine it overwhelmed by dragon flames and the avid tongues of flesh-eating daemons. Your family, your girlfriend, all dead or enslaved by forces that revel in cruelty and suffering.”

“Alsu believes that we've been sent here to train and become the heroes that Terra will need when the dimensional collision hits in a year. I don't disagree,” said Raal Gooh.

“So, I must train. This world is all about becoming stronger,” said Fran.

“There are many paths toward strength,” said Dalamaru. “I chose the study of arcane arts that I can't even discuss with those outside my brotherhood. But it's not just about preparing for a final fight. We don't even know whether one will take place.”

Merkes continued Dalamaru's train of thought.

“Our priority is to find out what's going to happen in a year. That must be our obsession. Personal strength doesn't matter if we don't have a map to the war we're going to fight. I'll tell you something: I don't think Mela's invading Earth. I think Earth will be dying soon. Nukes, a comet, who knows. But we're pioneers, scouts who must find a new home for the survivors. And protect it. We're protectors.”

“You don't know that,” said Alsu.

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“Nobody does, and that's all the more reason to seek knowledge over strength. Focused knowledge, not just spells or whatever. Some people here, they're lorefreaks to the core. They submerge themselves in the Imperial Library of Cheng'An and ignore anything else.”

Raal nodded.

“I wish I had the time to pay them a nice little visit and slap them in the face,” Merkes said. “Selfishness like that makes my blood boil. Sorry Earth might be dying. Sorry the end of the world is up to me, but Melan history is too captivating, I'm such a library mouse! And then there's the cowardly rats that escape it all to live a cozy life in a hamlet somewhere in the Imperial heartlands. That's the best of both worlds, isn't it? Those people are fucking disgusting.”

The forest to both sides of the path opened before the group revealing a wide beautiful landscape. The yellow of the Sun, the blue moon, the green grass of the fields and the brown of the beautiful trunks of the olive trees captivated Fran. There were ripe fields too, ready for the harvest, and springs where cerulean water ran free. Men worked the fields, and Fran observed them, curious about the human natives of this land. They were of medium height, stocky and sun-tanned. You could count the men whose hair wasn't dark with one hand. Wavy sometimes, but curly in most cases. Everyone wore their hair short. The older men sported short beards and wore white tunics, while the young wore skirts and sandals. Some of these were fit, obviously active in some sort of body-building activity. Most were just stocky with big arms, but none of them were fat. The older men ordered the young ones around with a familiarity that made Fran guess they were all close relatives. Sons, cousins, nephews. The young men were sweating and chatted loudly as they worked.

Beyond them stood the wall that marked the limits of their town and, more importantly, the Empire’s border. The group had made it clear to Fran that this Empire, which didn't go by any other name because it was the only one in the known world, was the biggest civilized state in Mela. There was a smattering of orderly kingdoms, mostly feudal, but life outside the Empire was rough. You’d be free from the scrutiny of the mandarins that ruled every aspect of life in the Empire, but also from their protection. Merkes explained that he'd been a guest at a gnome village not two days away from the border. The gnomes worked hard to build a land of their own, a town of craftsmen and farmers that could prosper free of the oppression that had befallen their kind elsewhere, but they lacked the knack for violence that life in the wildlands required. “I tried to tell their chieftain, but to no avail. The moment I expressed my doubts about the future of their enterprise, they brought out more wine and stew to shut me up. I pray that the invisible shield of Belen Go covers their land.”

The town was larger than Fran would have guessed. There were hundreds of low houses built of white stucco. Some rooftops were blue, others dark red. A temple was the only building that stood out, other than the large wooden warehouses by the port. The overall impression was of elegance, equilibrium and natural, unassuming beauty. It was a town where you'd want to live with your family.

“That's the first place I want to visit,” said Dalamaru pointing to the columns of the temple. “Everywhere a shrine to the Emperor stands is a place where life and dignity have value.”

Fran knew to keep his mouth shut for now, but his confusion grew the more his companions spoke. If they were humans from Earth, what's with this worship of deified emperors and gods and goddesses from another planet? Were they playing a role for safety's sake? They must be, to some degree. None of them had revealed their real name to Fran, and Alsu encouraged him to develop a Melan identity as soon as possible. Not because anybody would figure out that he was a Terran dreamer. Who'd even heard of that? However, the Empire borderlands were an area of duplicity and suspicion, adventurers and spies, merchants, smugglers and counterfeiters. What would he say if Imperial soldiers interrogated him? “You got me, I'm actually a computer programming student from Spain. Still learning, but I can write a mean line of code. Do you guys like pop music? I don't really, but that's where the girls go on Fridays.”

Not anymore, he thought. Fridays were over for him. He felt more enthusiasm about the prospect of Melan Fridays than he would have thought. This land was good. There was something in the air, an of invisible song that makes you smile as you leave your house. The feeling that something great might happen today, that you might find love, or run into an old friend.

They were still an hour from the city when Merkes turned to Fran with a cold look in his eye.

“This is where we leave you,” he said. The others were looking everywhere except in his direction.

“You joke.”

“No, this is it.”

“There's one last piece of information, Merkes.”

“I know, Dalamaru. Fran, I will now share with you an email address. You must send an email pretending that you have a complaint about a package that never arrived. It’s crucial that you include the words “I hope for an answer in 7 hours tops.” You can change the number, but it must be an odd number. The rest of the sentence must be exactly the same. You'll receive an answer in bad English, apologizing for their inability to help and asking that you contact them by phone. Call that number. They'll share the time and place for the closest meeting of the New Alliance. There are dozens of Sunday meetings all over Terra.”

Merkes grabbed his hand and shook it.

“Maybe we'll meet again once you've been initiated into the New Alliance, Fran. You're too much of a liability until then. I advise you to spend the week in Imperial territory and keep a low profile. You'll have time for adventuring in the future. Good luck, dreamer.”

Fran didn't return Merkes’ fake smile. He was being dumped in a dangerous land by the only people who could help. He'd never had time for bad friends and selfish people, and he made a note about this.

“Your smile lies,” he said. “Not just now, I've been watching you. There's a thick mask between your thoughts and your words. With me, with Alsu and with Raal. The only chink in your armor of deceit is the intensity of your resentment towards Dalamaru. Is it because she doesn't respect you? I noticed that too. She does look down on you.”

An involuntary shriek made it through barriers carefully built over years of self-control and denial. His hand rushed for his sword and drew half of its blade before Raal and Alsu stopped him.

“You need to leave now,” said the rogue. “I don't know what you think you were doing, but you won't last here with that attitude.”

Fran felt calm. He nodded, smiled, and turned without saying a word. Perhaps he was being too cool. He would have loved to say “Good luck putting your lives in the hands of this excuse of a man.” But did he know better?

The sound of his boots was his only companion on the path to the town until the voice of Merkes, loud and insecure, broke the silence.

“Yeah, let him go. Let that piece of shit go. Dead man walking! We're never meeting again, corpse, you won't last a month in Mela. Fear next Friday, asshole.”

Fran kept on walking, unaffected by the desperate words of the so-called leader of the group. What did that guy expect? A thank you note and a box of chocolates for leaving him stranded? Fran had made his mistakes in the past, and the pain of false friendships and betrayals had left a mark and taught him a lesson: You're better off without leeches.