In which Diran awakens in a strange land and meets the bluecoat, Welvet; the lady, Poranda; and the maidservant, Nomil.

Diran awoke to a great commotion and, when his eyes cracked open, he found himself surrounded by a thick fog such that he could not see at all. In a panic, he sat straight up like a board and his eyes came up above the fog. It was then that he spied a great hall, made of fine red bricks, from which came the din.

When he stood up, he was surprised by the softness of the ground, which was feathery beneath his boots. Up to his knees there was a thick white fog that swirled like fine cream. He realized that there was some strange white dust strewn on the ground upon which he had lain, for his whole body, including his black hair, had taken on a platinum hue.

He realized his hand was still gripping the silver thread and he stuffed it back in a pants pocket. Gathering himself, he made his way over to the hall, which was long and much taller than any building he had seen before in the lower realm.

As he approached, Diran noticed a window of beautiful glass through which there was movement and some light. He hurried himself to the pane and gazed inside to behold many dozens of men dressed in blue coats, who hurried about with wooden boxes. At long tables, the boxes were broken up and the contents sorted. From time to time, one of the men would seize upon some meat or drink and consume it greedily.

It dawned on the thief that these were surely the offerings from the lower realm, but before he interrogated his mind further, he heard a door open and, without time to think, lowered his body into the wispy ground.

He was just barely able to make out the figure who walked past him. It was a tall, lanky, boar of a man dressed in blue coat and trousers. His collar stood up around his neck and Diran thought there was some fine gold piping around the fabric. The man wore a tall hat with a visor that gave him an imposing air and there was a rapier at his waist, which hung down just far enough that it swung idly at his polished leather boots into which his trousers were tucked.

Without thinking, Diran stood and spoke up, “Sir- “

The sudden voice must have spooked the man for he made a great shout, “Ah! Who’s there?” Diran took a step back and lifted his arms up to signal for peace; he continued, “I am Diran and I fear I’ve become lost. What place is this?”

The man dressed in blue straightened himself out and glared at Diran, who noticed he wore a proud moustache that accentuated his keen features. “What place…’oi, you don’t look like you’re from around here. Where’d you come from?” The question caught Diran off guard and he sputtered for a moment, “Ah…I fell.”

His response earned him an incredulous stare, “You? Fell from above?” Diran felt sweat form at his brow as he grasped for an answer. Then, just as he began to lose hope, the bluecoated man spoke up again, “Haha! That’s a good one, sire. We’ve been expecting you. Here, let me show you inside.”

Diran nodded dumbly, “…of course!” He followed after the man, who strutted confidently with his back straight and said, “The name’s Welvet, sire, and I must say this haul’s a good one. Her Royal Highness spares not the rod; do send her our regards.”

With that, he threw open a great wooden door and said, “Attention!” All present, who had been milling about, stood up straight and saluted Diran, for whom none of this was sensical. Unsympathetic, the one called Welvet led Diran further into the building, motioning for him to peruse the boxes, “As you can see, only the finest have been screened; we’ve had the mills working double-time.”

Arranged on the tables was a great ocean of textiles, foodstuffs, drinks, and many more fine goods. Such goods were manufactured in the mills and other facilities destined for the upper realm; Diran recalled his time in Gomus’s mill, where he had sewn, onto satin coats, buttons that alone were beyond his means to purchase. Now, such effects were strewn out, vulnerable, before him.

There was a crate in which many bottles of wine were nested on straw, hailing from a side of Alinov to which he had never travelled. In fact, across the room he could gather a whole panorama of the island’s lower realm. Agriculture, metalworking, tanning, all came together in this cornucopia.

Welvet looked to Diran, lifting his visor, “So, sire, is it to your satisfaction?” Diran hesitated for a moment but collected himself, wiping his brow, “Oh, yes very much so. You have done well.” His complement was well received, “Thank you kindly, sire. Then, when shall you be off?”

Diran froze, “Ah well, I think I will be staying for a while longer.” Welvet looked surprised but then grinned, “Of course, sire. Why don’t I accompany you?” Diran weighed his options and, with some apprehension, relented, “Very well, show me to a place where I might rest.”

Stolen story; please report.

The two left the big hall and travelled down a path lit with lamps mounted on tall posts. Diran admired the silhouette of a tower atop which was mounted the face of a massive clock. As they walked Welvet narrated, “By the providence of Her Royal Highness, our land has flourished for some time; this clocktower was built in her honor.

Diran gazed up at the mighty pillar for a little longer and then they carried on. “So, sire, as you wish to relax for the night, I’ll take you to some unoccupied quarters.” Diran nodded his assent but his face was tinged with uncertainty. The mysterious fog at their feet gently curved around his boots as they strolled down the street. From time to time, they would come across someone who either donned the same blue coat as Welvet or some other fine garment.

A lady approached, whose whole body was made reflective by jewelry. Her sand-colored hair was bound up tightly atop her head and the length of the dress she wore, which was crafted of a pink, membranous fabric, swayed from side to side as she walked. She waved to Welvet, “Good evening, Officer.” He tipped his hat and said, “Miss Poranda, good evening to yourself as well. I was showing our kind visitor from above to his quarters.”

Miss Poranda lowered her head towards Diran and he was struck dumb for some time before responding, “Ahah, good evening, Miss Poranda, please raise your head.” She offered a bleached smile and Diran wondered why it was that she did not glow brightly, although so prismatically adorned. Then, she spoke and Diran noticed that every word was measured as if from a marked glass, “Then, sire, why not retire to my home? We have a spare room and it would be my honor to host one so esteemed.”

Perhaps overconfident or perhaps merely swept up in the momentum of the conversation, Diran absentmindedly agreed, “Then I shall take you up on your offer.” Welvet was amenable to this and said, “Oh splendid. I shall return to my duties but I shall be over in due time to make sure you are comfortable.”

After that, Miss Poranda and Diran separated from Welvet, who returned the way he had come. The two then walked off along a different road and Diran thought to pry a little, “Then, Miss Poranda, what say you of Her Royal Highness, Princess Thizen?”

The lady, who must have been nearing the middle of her life, was silent for a while and then said, “I am grateful everyday for the blessings she has bestowed upon our land.” Diran was curious and continued, “Blessings such as?”

With that, Miss Poranda stopped and gestured with a wide sweep of her arms to a great big residence that stood a proud three stories, behind a large gate. “With the goodwill of Her Royal Highness, the walls of our homes grow ever taller, so that we may aspire to ever greater heights.”

“How high might you aspire?” he prodded.

The lady flinched but recovered her tempo, “Of course, we would never dare aspire to those lofty heights of the land above. It is only through the true and wise governance of those above that we prosper.”

The two were left in uncomfortable silence for a moment but soon the atmosphere recovered. Diran spoke up, “Ahem, at any rate, let us continue.” Lady Poranda replied happily, “We needn’t go far, this here is my residence.” With that, the two came through the gate and entered the large residence.

Once inside, Miss Poranda said, “Might I interest you in a bath before dinner, sire?” Diran, waving away a cinnamon-haired maidservant, who had approached for his coat, nodded, “That sounds wonderful.”

“Very well. Nomil, show our guest to the bath and see to it that his needs are met,” Miss Poranda promptly commanded the maidservant, who bowed in acknowledgement and looked with her amber eyes into Diran’s own, “This way, sire.” He noticed that the maidservant Nomil’s voice, while restrained, was not so much reserved or timid. Surely behind her freckled features, there was a firm will for one who seemed rather young.

The maidservant’s attire was a simple affair; she wore a cream-colored gown with sleeves tied slightly before her wrists. There was little color on her person; she had a black cravat tied at her collar and her dark, leather shoes were practical—there was no excess of noise as she walked across polished wood. Her cinnamon hair seemed well taken care of and she had it tied up, covered partially by a cap of the same color as her gown.

He felt no need to make small talk, so he followed in silence until she stopped at an ornate door by which stood a potted plant that he thought was very tall. She motioned towards the door and said, “Will you need assistance, sire?” He pondered for a moment but, warily, replied, “No, your guidance thus far was enough. Thank you, Nomil.”

Her expression, for a moment, betrayed that she thought him strange but he didn’t mind her and crossed the threshold into the bath room. Inside, he noticed that there was a basin with a great deal of water from which steam emerged and he thought that this bath might have been prepared for Lady Poranda prior to his arrival.

He removed his clothes and stepped into the bath, which began to turn murky. He thought that the platinum dust in his hair was quite annoying and made great effort to wash it out. To his satisfaction, it came out easily and soon his hair was its normal black again, though cleaner than it had been in some time.

After a while of soaking, he decided that he should see if the aforementioned dinner had been prepared. He stepped out of the basin but found that he had misjudged his footing, for, suddenly, he slipped.

“Yaaah!” he cried out in surprise as he fell onto his rear with a great THUD. He winced and rubbed his back, which had collided with the water basin painfully. As he moved to stand, he heard a series of frantic footsteps, then the door swung open dramatically. “Sire!” shouted Nomil, the maidservant, in a panic.

Diran hurriedly pulled his loose clothes over his body and forced a chuckle, “Haha…just a minor fall, no worries.” He made a squinty grin toward the maidservant, but she said nothing. He opened his eyes and saw that she was staring at him, silent. “…Nomil?” he asked, but she was mute.

He pondered for what seemed like minutes before the frozen maidservant. Then he gasped in realization, for she stared neither at his indecent state nor his face, but slightly above—his hair, his now coal-black hair.

Their scream was, in retrospect, surprisingly harmonious.