A cloud of brown dust met James at the entrance of the construction site, spreading out from a jet-saw being worked beside a stack of rockwood. The rumbling grind of a cement mixer bored into his pounding head, his nostrils filling with the hot mixture.

The large frame of Pete Sima was bent over a tool box as James jogged by. Pete rose, arching his back and passing the back of a gloved hand over his gleaming bald head.

“Ho, there, James,” Pete called out. “What’s going on here then? Early morning run? Hah! You look like you been through the works already. Hah!”

James ignored the big man’s guffaws. Pete would tell everyone of his state throughout the day, embellishing the story each time for comedic effect, though James cared little at that moment.

He made his way to the communal area, intending to quickly wash in the sink before finding Tam. Or before Tam found him. He became flustered as he tried to shift himself to normal-work mode. The two walls of the communal area formed an inward corner, which contained a kitchen area, a few wooden tables and benches, and personal chests for the workers. James’s head spun; sweat dripping and blotting his shirt.

Ignoring the inquiring eyes of a Jaari colleague taking a break on a bench, James washed in the sink. Deciding to change into a spare shirt, he washed his torso with a cloth, not caring if anyone watched. He was careful around his sore side, and grimaced as he ran his fingers over the bruise on his forehead. When he was done, he stretched his stiff back, feeling the warmth of the strengthening sun on his wet torso.

James rummaged for a spare shirt in his personal chest, and instantly remembered his lost book. The one left in the alley with the beggar. He swallowed through a dry throat and grimaced at the thought. James pulled on his spare shirt—the short-sleeved grey one with three loose buttons down the collar—despite still being wet.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, as best he could under the circumstances, he knew it was time to finally see Tam. He headed to the small office around the side of the building framework, where several workers hoisted large concrete blocks onto the back of a truck.

His posture straightened as he saw Helena Jositt by the workstation outside Tam’s office. She was lost in work as usual, hunched over a dozen blueprints. James meant to keep walking, but Helena happened to look up, perhaps sensing his movement, and their eyes met.

James beamed immediately, grinning like an idiot, and nodded to her. Helena displayed her big toothy smile, which warmed his heart.

“Morning, Helena.” His face reddened when he suddenly remembering his dishevelled, sweaty appearance.

“Hey there, James,” she called out, lifting a hand to shade her squinting eyes from the sun. “Oh, what’s happened to you? You okay?”

He raised a hand halfway to the bruise on his forehead. “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing. Ah, hazards of the job.”

Helena frowned. “It looks painful. You had Karl look at it yet?”

“Was gonna see him later,” James told her, although he hadn’t even thought of asking their medically trained colleague to dress the wound.

Helena maintained her concerned expression. “Make sure you do. I worry about you guys sometimes.”

James smiled sheepishly. “Have you been here since the last time I saw you?”

She laughed heartily at that. “I feel like it, ya. You know me. Chained to this place while they need me.” Her face hardened as she studied him. “You sure everything’s all right?”

He realised he was grimacing. If she only knew what he did yesterday…

He did his best to lighten his expression. “Yeah. Yeah, just… didn’t get much sleep last night, is all.”

“Yuh, I hear ya. These humid nights have been getting to me too. Not that I get to sleep much these days with all this.” She waved an ink-stained hand over the scatter of blueprints. James noticed her hand shaking a little; perhaps she really had been overworking herself lately.

James opened his mouth to say something, but a presence behind him caught his attention.

“There you are,” Tam’s heavy voice grunted.

James turned as the foreman came to a stop with hands on his hips, his large chest protruding authoritatively. A long box was under his arm.

A desert man his whole life, Tam’s Canthian heritage gave him a dark, ruddy complexion - a much darker tone than many other Canthians and Canarrians. Short stubble covered both his head and powerful jawline, with heavy brows hooded over his small and serious eyes. Under his often-worn thin black waistcoat, Tam wore his light blue buttoned shirt today, which he usually wore outside of work hours or on special occasions.

Seeing the foreman, even in his obviously disappointed state, James felt his insides warm with familiarity. Tam had become the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever known, and the Canthian seemed more than happy to take up the role of guardian and tour guide to the lost stranger he’d met one afternoon outside a diner.

He had a way with sayings, Tam did. After a short conversation with him you could easily pick up a few repeated phrases and words; his way of speaking was both enjoyable and infectious. Though today James could tell that Tam was in a particularly foul mood.

Before James could make his apologies, aware that Helena was in hearing distance, Tam spoke first. “Morning, Island. This here’s your job for the day.” He threw him the long package.

James caught it against his chest. He spared a confused glance at the paper-wrapped box, still waiting for whatever tirade Tam had to say.

“Need you to deliver this right away. Important client, this one. Don’t got no time to be wasting around, wishing for snow. You go over there straighter than the crow flies, before the day dies.” Tam pointed a finger at him now, something he only ever did when really angry.

James lowered his head, beginning to feel disheartened. He’d been late and behind on his tasks before, but he wondered just what he’d done to earn this vitriol.

Tam’s brows rose and his eyes widened. “What’ve you done to yourself?” His hard tone was injected with concern.

James felt his face grow hot. He took a few steps away from Helena’s workstation, and was relieved when Tam went with him without argument.

“It’s nothing,” he told the foreman. “Was just careless coming in this morning.”

“What happened? This happen on site?”

James suppressed a smile at seeing Tam’s concerned face. He knew how much Tam could worry about him at times, even over small matters. “I just fell, is all. On the way in. It’s nothing, really.”

Tam’s small eyes thinned. James sensed he knew he was lying. After all, the man knew him better than anyone else.

“All right, then,” Tam eventually said. “We’ll talk later, shall we? But off you go, now. The client’s waiting for you.” His face hardened with severity, causing James to look away. He hated Tam being upset with him.

“Sure, boss,” he said in a low voice. “Sorry about being late. I…” He couldn’t find his words. How would he begin to give an explanation?

Tam sighed; the sound he made when he begrudgingly knew he was in the wrong. “Listen, kid. You got nothing to be sorry about. Just… just take that package over, and then we’ll talk.”

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James nodded.

“Off you go, kid.” Tam pointed with his head.

“Okay,” was all James could say.

Tam stepped back and paused, staring off somewhere behind James, lost in thought. After a moment, his eyes fixed back on him. “Take care, kid.” Tam held his gaze for some more, before entering his small office building. The sound of slow-paced music came out of the room before he closed the door.

That last look concerned James, although he couldn’t say why. When they’d speak later, he would ask his foreman if there was anything else troubling him. Something seemed off with Tam this morning. He hoped it wasn’t all down to him letting him down.

James now had a good look at the package he held: a narrow box the length of his forearm, covered in a thin brown wrapping, with an address label on the top. He moved it around, feeling it wasn’t much heavier than a hammer. The contents didn't shift.

He wouldn’t be stuck on site all day after all. But how that helped him with finding Evan, he couldn’t say.

“Decided to jog to work today?” Sam Hawkings had come over. A smile played across his lips, inviting James to joke around. His pleasant voice had an accent that James had never been able to place.

“You have no idea.” James noticed his shirt was still covered in dark, wet patches. He grunted a laugh at Sam’s inquisitive look. Running a hand through his messy hair, he grazed the bruise on his head and scowled involuntarily.

“Nasty cut there,” Sam said, although he didn’t say any more of it. James knew he wouldn’t; it was one of the things he liked about Sam. He allowed James to keep his business to himself and didn’t ask too many questions. “Busy morning? Or busy night? Don’t tell me your half day yesterday proved too tiring for you?”

“Yeah, something like that, I guess.”

“The market nice and quiet for you on season-sale day?”

Realisation came to James. “That’s what it was, weren’t it. I knew it was something.” He’d been sent out for supplies during the peak rush of the first day of the new sale season.

“Well at least you’re not out there today,” Sam told him, blowing out a breath.

“Y’know, I nearly got myself actually trampled on,” James went on. “I tell you, those old Canarrian ladies are getting worse.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam laughed. “One tried to fight me off with a sword when I reached for the last Victory loaf in the stalls the other day.”

“So it was a victory to her then?” James grinned, and Sam snorted a laugh. “Say, where were you yesterday, anyhow? Didn’t see you here when I dropped the stuff off.”

“Oh, you know me, Isles, always got something more important to do than being in this place.” Sam squinted against the sun, holding his head high as he struck a heroic pose. “Not many super workers like me around.”

“Must be nice,” James said.

“Looks like you’re being sent out too,” Sam said, nodding to the package in James’s hand.

“Yeah, Tam wanted me to deliver it. Guess this here’s my punishment for being late.”

“Must be.”

James gestured with the package as a thought struck him. “Hey, Sam, do you know about the Jump Races?”

“’Course. They’re all I ever watch. Me likes me a bit of a Jump-Race.”

“Right.” James wished he’d asked this question before going to the electrical store yesterday.

“You see Fisskle cap it in the qualifier yesterday?” Sam asked.

“I did, actually. How about you tell me more about them sometime. I’m thinking of becoming a fan.”

“That right? Well, everyone should be.”

James nodded, feeling good about learning more about something.

“Well, important men have important things to do,” Sam said, adjusting his footing. “See you around, Isles.” He turned and crossed the site.

A shadow fell over James as he looked around, now alone. The slow-rote engines of the crane behind the office building whirred as it moved a stack of pipes to the compound further on. He waited a little longer, taking in the moment of calm, before leaving the site with a delivery to make.

James had become fairly familiar with the streets of Tyken Town from his time working at Rimas Complete, between work deliveries and covering shifts on several sites. He’d started off collecting orders from stores, and delivering tools and equipment to other sites, either by shuttle pod or truck, while he learned the processes and safe equipment practices. As deliveries were usually given to the lower level employees and trainees, James considered his current task a punishment for being late.

His head throbbed, reminding him of earlier events, and he once again hoped Evan was safe, wherever he was. Another throb made him reluctantly think of the hooded figure in that horrific land. He could still see the beggar’s dead eyes staring at him. For all James knew, the deranged beggar had sent him to that fiery world as some kind of punishment for killing him.

A passing cold merchant approached him. “Ice drinks. Ice fruits. Refresh yourselves.” The merchant called out to all as he moved through the street. His maroon skin was heavily wrinkled from a lifetime in the sun, and his yellow teeth showed through his wide grin. “Fine day, friend,” he said with the thick accent of a rural Canarrian speaking Standard. He adjusted the straps of the two satchels slung across his sides. “You look partial to an iced apple, am I right? I can always tell, is a gift of mine. Now…” he reached into a satchel.

“No, no. Many thanks,” James replied quickly before the man could remove the iced fruit. It was true that he would’ve normally indulged in a sweet iced treat, although he wasn’t sure if his stomach could take it right then. Though freezing his brain would likely help the headache he couldn’t shake. “Another time, for sure.” He left the frowning merchant, who muttered something in Canarrian.

Down a path of heavily cracked pavestones, he saw an old red-skinned man setting up a vegetable stall. James recognised the man, having passed by his old-style fold-out stall many times, though he’d never spoken to him. The old Canarrian would soon be stretched out on his wooden chair, smoking a pipe and working on the title of most relaxed and carefree individual in the known worlds. It looked like a nice life, and made James realise how stressed and worried he could get with his own life.

The heat began to overpower James. He rubbed the back of his sweaty neck as he passed a side alley. A shape against the wall further down caught his eye. His first thought was that it was another unfortunate person to have been robbed and left grieving against the scene of the crime, and it was curiosity, along with thoughts of possibly helping the individual, that caused him to stop.

Looking closer at the figure hugging its knees, James’s whole body electrified when he recognised the familiar green tunic.

Evan sat with his head buried in his knees; his body trembling.

James ran and crouched beside the weeping Voarn. “Hey, hey.” He found his voice was low and soothing. He couldn’t believe he’d found Evan again.

There was no response from Evan, who continued to weep. James gently laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bony frame beneath his tunic.

Evan burst to life, convulsing violently, his arms waving as he pushed himself against the wall. It took James a moment to calm the Voarn. Evan eventually looked up with red-rimmed eyes, his cheeks dirty, a bruised cut smeared dry blood on his forehead. If he was happy or surprised to see James, he showed neither expression.

“Evan. You okay, buddy?”

Evan took a shallow breath and tried to compose himself, his lower lip quivering. “Failed,” he said hoarsely. “I… I thought I could… I failed… Everyone is lost. I am…”

“No, hey, look. You’re all right. Those guys are gone now. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“No.” Evan’s voice trembled. “You do not understand. They took…”

It was then James realised that Evan’s overly large sword was missing. The Voarn continued to weep and bowed his head.

James rubbed his bony shoulder, wondering what to do. “But what about your task? The big mission?” He hoped to ease Evan with his own beliefs. “Come on, little man. You got a responsibility ahead of you. You can’t admit defeat already.”

He could see he wasn’t getting through to Evan, and tried to think of that Voarn god the forest dweller had mentioned, which had brightened Evan when he’d heard it. But he couldn’t remember the name. “Hey, look. I’ll help you get your sword back,” he found himself saying.

Evan lifted his head. “You… could retrieve it?”

“I could try. Those gangs usually keep together within certain areas. If we tried, together, I bet we could get it back. Maybe swap it for something else or for coin.” James tried to sound as hopeful as possible without making any true promises.

“You would… help me?”

“’Course. We’re in this together, ain’t we?” He knew this would cheer the Voarn up, and he was right. Evan’s face changed before him; a well of gratitude in his eyes.

James couldn’t help but smile.

It was then he remembered the package on the ground. He turned to Evan, who shivered a lingering sob away.

“Look.” James picked up the package. “I just have to deliver this. It’s for my work. It ain’t far from here, and after we can see about getting your sword back. I just…” his voice trailed off when Evan’s expression changed.

The Voarn’s eyes, wide and shimmering pools, fixed on the package. His mouth hung open.

“What is it?” James asked.

“Where did this come from?” Evan’s voice was barely a whisper.

“This? It was given to me. At my work. Do… Have you seen this before?”

Evan’s small chest heaved with his heavy breathing. “That seal.”

James then noticed the image on the address label; what he’d thought was a company logo. It was a golden circle, with two ornamented lances on the sides, their tips touching to make a triangular shape. Tiny icons and symbols were within the circle’s rim, too small to determine. In the centre of the image was a strange symbol, which looked to James like a several letters overlapping each other.

“That is my family crest,” Evan said in awe.

Silence came over them as the words sunk in.

“James, why is my family crest on that box?”

“I surely don’t know,” was all James could say. He stared incredulously at the package.

“Where did you say you obtained this?”

“From work. My boss, Tam, gave it to me. I mean, we make deliveries every day. I just thought…”

“This Tam. Could he know me? My family?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.” James didn’t know what to think anymore. “I dunno how he could. Do you know the name on it?”

Evan checked the recipient name. Den Keenosh. “I do not.” He then asked the question that James wanted to ask, but couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “What does this mean?”

Dull, intangible thoughts roamed through James’s troubled mind. “I really don’t know. Well, I do know one thing. I wanna see where this package goes. And I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna wanna be there.”

Evan broke from his thoughts and met his eyes. “We are fated, James Island. You and I. Whether you would believe it or not.”

A disquieted frown was James’s only response.