Solar powered flying cars hovered overhead in park. One down the street descended with the press of its driver's remote, a blinking red spotlight shining down from its underside as it did so. The crowd on the pathway parted from the landing zone, allowing the car to touch ground. Hall-walled skyscrapers lined the neighbourhood and zooming cars painted up the further skies.

Coat fluttering, dark brown hair still a waking morning mess, he jogged through the sea of people and pushed out of the crowd to an empty alley. “Tier! Sorry! Sorry!” he called as he neared the man leaning against the alley wall. “Guys took me drinking yesterday and I overslept.”

“Oho...” Tier stepped away and towards him. Tier wore a green singlet and muddied cargo pants, his face edged and rugged, his hair dirty and jumbled. “So it's fine for you to be drunk and late but when I do it, it's 'irresponsible'.” He air-quoted.

“I said I was sorry.” He pretended to scratch his neck to prevent Tier from seeing his face. “Besides, I only do this once a year or something. You do it every other week.”

Tier clicked his tongue and exclaimed, “Bah, whatever. Here!” He tossed a small brown bag.

“Is this drugs?” he replied uncertainly, slowly opening the gift. “I'm not trafficking for you.”

“Don't be a fucking smartass, kid. It's just your birthday present.”

From within, he pulled out a pocket watch. Engraved on the sleek titanium case were the symbols of the language he made up for his tabletop role-playing game nights. “It's my name.” He looked up to Tier, as he had done his whole life. “You learned my language.”

Tier ruffled his hair. “I love you too, nerd. Now be a good little brother and bugger off. I've got work to do.”

***

Eyes fluttering open, The Watcher ran his vision across the orange dawned sky that filtered through the branches. Gentle snowfall had happened through the night and his teeth were clattering from the cold. A layer of snow covered his face and he shivered and shook it off. He found his hand within his coat, holding onto his pocket watch. His thumb ran over the engraving, reading it like Braille. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the log he slept on. The campfire before him was but embers, and Nadier was nowhere to be seen. He breathed a breath of white mist, body shaking from being frozen.

From his side, he picked up the last of the prepared firewood and threw it unceremoniously into the flame. He stretched his hand towards the ember and focused, preparing to wrap the campfire in a time bubble, but without the shell that prevented friction. The wood spontaneously combusted, flame-tails spiralled up three meters into the air, twirling and dancing with the sun – no, twinrise – before dying back down to a steady fire.

“Too much oomph there,” The Watcher criticized himself.

“Neat trick.” He turned to see Nadier coming in from the forest, three grey furred rabbits with horns dangled from his belt. “Breakfast?” He pointed to the animals. The elf had obviously gone hunting.

“Sure. Never had those before though.” The Watcher asked, “I'm guessing jackalopes?”

“Yeah. How did you know?” He untied the prizes of his hunt and settled down in the snow opposite. “I thought you didn't know anything about this world?”

“Guess some things just translates.”

“I've been meaning to ask you about that.” Nadier pulled out his dagger, rolled up his sleeves, and casually began skinning the animal. “How are you able to speak modern tongue so well?”

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“Probably like the jackalope. Just translates from world to world, I guess.” He got to his feet and stretched. He looked to his palm and realized he had subconsciously took out his watch. He returned the accessory to his coat. “Where I come from, it's called English.”

“Ink... klish. Weird. Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue.” He masterfully finished peeling off the fur, a pool of blood in the snow in front of him. He got up and kicked a fresh layer of dirt over the red. From behind his coat, where he apparently kept an endless pocket, the dark elf pulled out a metal canteen and began washing off the blood from his hands. “Are you really nine-hundred and six?”

“What?” The Watcher asked, unsure of his question.

“Your age.”

“Oh.” He laughed, surprised the elf even remembered or even took him somewhat seriously. “No. I'm not. I'm uh...probably over a thousand years old now.”

Nadier looked up from preparing the skewers and racks from sticks he had gathered earlier. “You're not joking.”

“Nope. Completely serious here... for once.” He walked around the fire to offer a hand, but Nadier turned him down with a wave. “Nine-hundred and six is just the last age I remembered to count. I don't even remember how old I am, that's how old I am. Did Adelaide tell you about what happened after she brought me here?”

Nadier nodded. “I don't quite understand it.” He fixed the meat over the fire and sat back down. “Something about 'frozen in time' and stuff.”

The Watcher settled back into his log seat, feeling the age in his bones. He explained, “Whenever my body is dealt a fatal wound, my survival instincts kicks in. Seals me in a time bubble to protect me while my body repairs its damage. And when I grow old, my power regress my age, making me young again. As far as I know, I can't die. Not without being disintegrated,” he sighed dejectedly.

A yawn echoed from Adelaide's home, and they turned to the cave to see her stretching in her hammock, the makeshift bed strung across the walls and covered by her fur coat for warmth.

The Watcher asked, “What are you going to do about her? You two were friends, right?”

“I hope we still are,” Nadier absent-mindedly twirled the three sticks of meat, now a nice roasted brown. “It's just, I need that information. I didn't mean to hurt her for it.”

The man punctuated, “You're a liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying you're lying about what you just said. You're just a liar, and a coward, in general.” Nadier glared at him with eyes as thin as the ice he was threading. He waved for the elf to calm down. “No offence, but that's just the vibe I get from you. You lie in conflict and run in danger, never getting into the fight. After all, fighters don't carry daggers, poisons, and blackmails. Nothing to be ashamed of. I do it all the time. Lying, I mean.”

Seemingly satisfied with the apology and criticism, Nadier looked into the fire in contemplation. The Watcher worried he might burn their breakfast with his concentrated stare. Adelaide stepped out of the cave, already dressed, with a simple leather pack slung over her shoulders, her axes strapped firmly at the back of her waist. The sword she disarmed from the treasure hunter the day before was in her hand.

Nadier held the more well done of the meat to her, a painfully obvious bribery for peace. “Jackalope?”

She swiped the stick without a word and tossed the sword to The Watcher, who clumsily caught the weapon just before it hit him in the face.

He asked, “What am I suppose to do with this?”

If he had any illusion that she was starting to warm up to him, he was corrected then and there. Her voice was lower than a growl. “You still can't properly use all your magic. So if you die before reaching the Titan Hunters, I'll kill you.” She ripped at the meat and walked away from the pair, heading south into the forest.

Nadier asked before she was out of earshot, “Where are you going?”

Stopping just short of the edge of the encampment, she snapped back, “What? You need me to hold your stinking hands? We're going in different directions. I've no need to be burdened by your two gearing asses.” Picking up pace, she continued on her way as the two stared at her receding back.

The dark elf sighed and turned back to the fire. He passed one of the meat to The Watcher and dug into his own meal. “Finish up. Once we're good, I'll walk you to Consortia's highway.”

He set the sword aside and took the food. Biting into it, the fantasy meat was tangy, and had the texture of gum but the ripping feel of beef. “This is weird,” he said with a mouth full of food.

“You'll get used to it.”

“No, I mean Adelaide. You said she's going to the dark elf capitol. But her skin is so...”

“White?”

“I was going to say fair.”

The dark elf sighed again, and The Watcher wondered if the elf did that a lot. Nadier held out his arm with its rolled up sleeve and scratched at the grey 'skin' with the tip of the stick. A line of white trailed after the cut. Like shadows, the grey seemingly wrapped itself back a moment later, a thin layer of gas that surrounded the body.

Nadier explained, “We're just as white as any other of the elves. But our skin are just sensitive to light, so we coat ourselves in this gas called aetherized aeronium. Once in the undercity, it's so dark that there's no need for it. We look just like any other elves.”

The Watcher nodded thoughtfully. Learning new things everyday. He loved it. The world had been amazing for him, travelling through all of time on his own planet. The exchange with Nadier inadvertently brought a smile to his face. The feeling of having new adventures on a new planet and new things to discover again hit him like a wave. He started laughing.

Nadier asked, “What's so funny?”

He bursts out uncontrollably, fully embracing the madman he was. “She hates your guts now. She'll probably kill us if she ever sees us again!” He didn't know why he found that train of random thoughts funny. He just did.

Madness must be contagious, for Nadier chuckled, “Yes, she probably will.”