That left Kreig with one hour until he needed to be wherever it was he had to be. There was an address, sure, but he had no idea how to get there.

Thankfully, before he could spiral into some sort of confusion-fueled panic, he got his wits together to take another look at the list. Sure enough, right there on the back was a little map of how to get there. Written out with a line to follow to get to the right place. No space for getting lost since it was obvious where he was meant to go and how he got there. It even said that the time it should take him to get there by foot was around 30 minutes, and even if Kreig added 15 minutes in case he got lost, that still left him with a quarter of an hour with nothing to do.

He could draw, of course. Always an option. But for some reason, he didn’t feel like it.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t know what to do at all. Worst of all, there was nobody there to tell him what to do either. No schedule to refer him to anywhere, no specific activity he could indulge in that he truly enjoyed, no enemy to go kill… He was unoccupied.

Empty.

It felt horrible.

He started pacing. Up and down the hallway, into his room, flipping through meaningless pages in the textbooks, up and down the hallway, into the bathroom, fawn over all the strange things, up and down the hallway, open the fridge for no reason, up and down the hallway… Stand in front of the screen in the living room. It was a big, fancy, shiny thing that seemed to follow rules beyond Kreig’s understanding.

-No, well, that wasn’t quite true. He did know a few things. Like that there was a little plastic thing that could turn it on.

He picked up the remote controller, tracing his finger over the buttons. There were a lot. He had no idea what any of them did, so, in an effort to keep himself occupied (only three minutes had passed, after all), he pressed each of them, from bottom to top, one by one, until:

“-Reporting live on the blue-grade portal recently opened in Hong Kong, China. Officials report prolific Violet Team Liliac Panthers entering the portal, their up-and-coming star Fighter-” and at that point, Kreig stopped listening. It was just a violent torrent of information about things he couldn’t possibly understand. Portals were one thing, he’d gone back in one after all, but these people were talking about famous managers and star Fighters and fans crowding and differently graded portals… Kreig was just left staring at it, like a man staring at a raging fire. No control.

And before he knew it, the time was 15:30 and he really had to get going.

Since he had no jacket or anything of the sort (not that he needed it), Kreig donned his shoes as hurried out the door. His heart rate seemed to spike but he could barely tell why. He had faced dragons and immense armies and the strongest men for the past 30 years, and this was what made him sweat as he hurried down the stairs? It was just a meeting with someone. No more stressing than meeting the Emperor or his lord. Just a man.

Hell, he even knew this man! He’d known this man for his entire stay underground, there was no reason to fear meeting him again, and there wasn’t even any tangible punishment for not keeping the time.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

...Apart from disappointing his siblings. The greatest failing of all.

He had to get there on time.

With the map in hand and a stern pace, Kreig walked through the streets, abusing every mental skill he had, his immaculate spatial awareness and his ability to understand maps (for once being useful to him), and finally, after what felt like far too long to have gotten him there in time, he found the address.

The entry way was really just a large door facing the street, alike every other, entering into an equally normal-looking apartment building in a row of similar ones, each built of red bricks. Kreig wasn’t sure what to do, but after testing the door, he found that it was open. Might as well enter. Inside he found a row of stairs and a short corridor. None of them held the address he was looking for, so he climbed the stairs.

There, on the top of the fourth and final floor, he found a single door. Karl Oskar Street 15c.

All he could do was knock and hope he wasn’t too late and wouldn’t be despised for it. And after a minute or so, during which Kreig was bold enough to try to knock again, the door opened boldly, revealing Dr Darius Falk standing right in the entrance, a mildly curious look on his face. “My, you’re early, Wiedemann.”

...What? “I didn’t mean to be.”

“Why, I’d say you’re,” Darius raised his arm, pulling up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a beautiful golden watch, “about 27 minutes early. Come on in.” Darius then proceeded to give Kreig the most affable, light-hearted smile he had ever seen, as if this wasn’t a mistake at all. Even then, it wasn’t as though Kreig could find it in himself to beg for forgiveness for a crime Darius didn’t see, so he entered inside the apartment.

It felt, in a word, luxurious. In a minimalistic sense.

It was plenty big, with wide, blank corridors and inviting rooms. But it wasn’t fully empty, no, many well-polished little tables and cupboards carried small, equally shiny trinkets. It could be little trays or animals made of crystal and glass. It was all sculpted and made in such a way where when the sun hit them right on, it was refracted into all the colours of the rainbow like in a prism. Another small drawer had a silver tray with different kinds of liquor and crystal bottles atop it, alongside small and wide glasses.

It all had this vague air of fancy. The abstract paintings on the wall were all framed in gold-painted wood and the furniture was a strange blend between nothingness and swirling wood.

Kreig wandered through this cacophony of modern and classic with a somewhat baffled look on his face, unsure of how to respond to it. Darius didn’t seem the least bit interested in introducing Kreig to any part of it, simply guiding him through the apartment with his back to him until they reached a room Kreig could only describe as what seemed to be a library. Every wall had a line of bookshelves covering it. Hundreds upon hundreds of books, old and new, hardcover and pocket version. Some thick, others thin.

And in the middle of this library, there was a pair of soft-looking armchairs beside a small table. The armchairs didn’t quite face each other, both turned at a faint angle.

“Come, take a seat,” Darius implored, walking ahead of Kreig to take a seat at the chair in the furthest chair, the one with the back to the only window in the room. Following suit, Kreig took a seat at the other chair, finding it oddly comfortable, fitting his size almost perfectly, unlike most other chairs he’d sat at these past months (which had all felt comically small to him). “I had it specially made by a local woodworker. Fantastic man.”

Kreig wasn’t sure what the right response to such a thing was, so he merely nodded.

Darius picked up a small notebook and lead pencil from the table beside the two chairs. “You don’t mind if I write notes, do you?”

“By all means,” Kreig said, despite not really understanding why Darius would need to take notes at all. In response, Darius gave a quick nod, wrote something in the notebook, and then looked back up before handing Kreig an ink pencil and a paper.

“It’s only client-patient confidentiality. It means I can’t disclose what we say to anyone, unless you confess to intending to harm yourself or someone else, in which case I’ll inform the proper authorities, which includes IOCRO. The part that you personally should focus on, however, is the former. Whatever you say to me, whatever opinions you voice, I will not tell a soul, not your siblings and not even IOCRO. Signing this protects you.”

Kreig didn’t hesitate to sign it, going so far as to gloss over the wall of text written. It all seemed terribly complicated, but he was sure Darius had only good things in mind. He felt like a good man.

Darius accepted the signed paper Kreig returned. “Thank you.” He then slid it into a yellow envelope and put it to the side. “Now, Wiedemann. How do you like your siblings?”

...It got right into it.