The bear of an Aveeran finally let Shawn go, grinning from one end of his beak to the other. “Hah! You know what, as cocky as you sound, color me surprised that Telga vouches for ya! So, you and the lithe woman are the two that showed up on the doorstep of a forgotten world? Thanks for keeping the old bird in one piece.”

“‘Old bird’, indeed,” Telga scoffed, looking faintly hopeful as she gently pulled off the muscular Aveeran from him. “Shawn, Claire, this is Varrick Termina, the resident smith of Vea’lant, voluntary militia member, and a man of many talents. Just don’t stroke his ego too much. It might lead to an unfortunate medical condition,” she added coyly.

“A pleasure. We’re glad to see some friendly faces. And not more murderous monsters out in the woods,” Shawn said, then gripped the man’s hand firmly. Claire did the same, though with a bit more caution. “We’re uh…well, it’s been a day. We should talk in private–”

“The only thing you’re doing is getting checked out by the healer. You two are beat to crap,” Varrick interjected gruffly, before pointing at the various minor injuries Shawn had sustained, and Claire’s leg. “None of that magical healing potion crap, we need to clean, sterilize and stitch. We only have so many magical medical miracles, so we save them for emergencies. Garrett, nice of you to keep them in one piece, yeah?” he called out and smiled at Regia. “We missed you too, dear. Glad the old bird didn’t scare you off.”

“Still standing here, still being offended,” Telga huffed, her feathers ruffling like a cat with a bottlebrush tail. “Varrick, I know you have questions. Can we wait for the wounded to be treated, first?”

“Aye. We’ll have to do the truncated tour. C’mon, we’ll take you to the apothecary. We just got a shipment of new medical supplies last week, you’ve got good timing. Damn Bandersnatches got a little bold chasing a group this close to town."

Shawn followed them through the clearing of the town's open area. It was a vast open area, built on a slight incline–including a hill, overlooking the surrounding area, though the titanic trees still managed to hover over all of it. Distantly, Shawn could see a few structures nested in the giant boughs of the trees–but he didn’t see a way up, at least, not without flying to them.

He glanced at the wings on his back. You need a workout once I’m not on the brink of collapse. That’s on my ‘to-do’ list. Varrick wasted no time on guiding them through the town, towards a larger, three-story brick and stone building labeled as ‘apothecary’ in English lettering.

He still was in dismay over that one. The odds of using the same language were astronomically low. And even if mages had found this world first–a disturbing thought that he hadn’t dared to follow up on–then wouldn’t it stand to argue that it wouldn’t be a modern version of English? Or as Telga had pointed out, continued imports had occurred regularly? Just not ones that she was responsible for.

Learning a new language was at least one merciful relief, on the pile of other challenges and dreads that lay before him. He shook his head and clenched his beak. No. Focus on the now. Get healed, get rested, form a plan. that's what you're good at.

> I think you’re keeping it together pretty well, for what little I can offer.

You've been quiet for a bit. They'd finally reached their destination in the rough-hewn timber and warm-colored apothecary, serving as a medical center for the wounded. Though most of the injuries were not life-threatening, they still had people with shrapnel wounds and burns. Two had broken limbs or had been shot by crossbow bolts.

It was a grim outlook for the first round of dealing with Revarik’s men, and he silently analyzed his actions while Garrett stitched his wounds, having raked the feathers of his arm away gently to expose the deep cut on his arm. He'd gotten hurt a few times on his survival treks, but not to this level.

> You had a lot on your mind, though you seem to be processing it logically. But, Claire is hurting, Shawn. I know little of people…but there’s a lot of pain there that mending physical wounds won’t touch.

He glanced over briefly to her, where they were removing her bandages and preparing to clean them with hot water, what he suspected was bar soap and an antiseptic wash. He couldn’t help but notice the disparate tech–they had magic, but showed some signs of decent medical knowledge, along with various technologies with a wide spread of sophistication.

More questions he would ask, later. Claire was looking away, and trying not to grimace in pain as they cleaned the slashing wound, and bound it closed, along with clean cloth bandages. He knew she was tough, but…this was above and beyond what anyone should have to face in their life.

I know Halsey, he thought with resignation. I worry I might have made a short term move, with long term consequences.

He winced as Garrett stitched a deep cut on his arm, after cleaning it. “I don’t think we got formally introduced, Garrett. Are you some kind of warrior?”

“I’m outfitted with the militia of Vea’lant. Sort of a combination of a town guard, and recon activities. I’d shake your hand, but uh, I don’t wanna have to stick you with more needles.”

Shawn winced as he stitched the wound closed. “Yeah, me too. My occupation until today was as an engineer. I built and designed stuff. My day job didn’t usually involve incinerating and perforating zealots. Or using a cryo blast to create an area denial trap.”

“That sounds useful. The engineering part, I mean,” Garrett was laser-focused on his work, and his hands were dead steady–never shaking once. “I would make a surprisingly good healer if I had more anatomical training. My gestalt gives me nerves of steel. Super precise motion, and I can hyper-boost my speed for a few seconds at a time.”

“I saw it. You unloaded multiple rounds on the invaders, and your aim was…effective,” he finished. “I have questions, but…they can probably wait. Anyway, the name’s Shawn Pentecost.”

Garrett finished with his stitches, wiped the spot clean, and smirked softly. “What do you know, you’ll live. I talked to the alderman a few minutes ago while grabbing supplies. We'll set you guys up here tonight, then we’ll sort out some stuff tomorrow. Now, Telga did explain to me that you, uh…”

“Got turned into a bird?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Garrett spoke in a lower tone, after nodding softly. “That, yes. We should probably not advertise that too widely, either. Your gestalt is highly unusual. Powerful, and possibly dangerous. You have three separate powers.”

“How do you distinguish them?” This bothered him that he had three unique powers--and if he focused for long enough, he could feel that gentle thrum of energy, hiding in his chest somewhere.

Garrett pointed to a book on the table, showing medical proceudures--and likely gestalt usage to heal injuries. “Most people only have one distinct gestalt. Though, it can manifest in a variety of means. You have Regia with the water blast and various other means of manipulating water. Telga has her light-based abilities. Mine are more hyper musculature control and sped-up reflexes…but there are some crazy ones out there. Though, many people barely use them, or know how to, at least more than the minimum.”

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“Some training is required?”

“There always is. But, not everyone is living a dangerous life. Those in the more built-up areas of Remaria, have normal lives. Relatively speaking.” Garrett patted his arm for emphasis, where a faint hint of green light traced where his veins might be, beneath the feathers. “But, you need to channel that energy, work it like a muscle group. Or like you would practice with a blade or a bow, if you want to reach maximum potential.”

“Good pointer.” Shawn leaned gently against the wall–and bumped his wings into the rough-hewn timber, bruising the joint. He said nothing at the motion, but Garrett tilted his beak in curiosity.

“That might take some getting used to, I bet. A little tip before you go to sleep, now that I’m thinking of it. You’ll want to sleep on your side. A cramped wing in the morning is the most painful thing. You can sleep on your back, but you need space to spread out your wings.”

Shawn nodded at this. “After the day I've had, I doubt sleep will be forthcoming anytime soon.”

“Try anyway. You could barely stand, by the time we got to town.” Garrett discarded the soiled clothes before handing him some simple clothes–a tunic with buttons to cover his wing shoulders and attended to another person with moderate cuts and burns a short distance away.

Shawn sighed and glanced at the fabric armor that had taken the brunt of the injury–he hadn’t noticed it, but there were thin metal plates in recessed pockets that had kept a piece of shrapnel or two from going through him. When he’d taken it off he was forced to reckon that his body was…different. He could feel muscle tone beneath the feathers, but it was lean muscle, not bulky. In a way, it was a reflection on who he was before--not super strong, but lean and mildly athletic.

He threw on the tunic, and slowly stretched to get it buttoned over his wings–a first, of many times he would have to do this. He was mentally numb by this point, and fatigue was creeping in. He lay back, trying to find some center he could retreat to.

He took the moment to shift on the cot to get Claire’s attention. The healer, a white and brown feathered woman who looked similar to the other doctor, had already attended to her cut. Claire was glancing distantly out the window.

“Hey, you alright?”

“No, Shawn. I’m not,” Claire replied unhappily. “We’re in a world infinitely far from home. People just tried to kill us. You got turned into…” she waved her hand, unable to say it. “Any one of those would be bad, on a given day. All of them at once? I gotta ask, what did we do to earn a ticket here?”

She did her best to try and hide the cry of anguish, but it was still there. She balled up on the cot, knees curled up against her chest. “Shawn I know you’ve been through bad shit before. With Maggie, and then your–”

“Don’t even say his name.” He felt his claws dig against the mattress, when she tried to bring it up. “Every time I give that man a thought, is another moment he’s laughing from the grave.”

“Sorry. I know you’re a little…sensitive about that one. But, you’ve got more reaction to that, than our current situation.” Her weary eyes peeked out from behind her knees, and she looked exhausted. “Between you and me? I’m scared to hell of what tomorrow brings.”

He wished he could tell her it was going to be okay. Someday. And he’d fight for that day when it would be. But he had no answers and assurances tonight. Nothing but the calming presence as he shifted the bedframe to lean in. His hand hesitated when he reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He saw his scaled fingers, and those short, sharp claws at the end. He realized then–when it finally sank in– just how much this had cost him already. He flexed his fingers uneasily, and then clapped his hands together, before leaning back on the lumpy pillow, watching her try to hide her tears.

“It’s my fault we’re here–”

“Don’t say that. Because it’s not.” She glanced at him, cheeks puffy from tears. “There is no one to point a finger at, but whoever took Maggie. And maybe Telga, but my instinct is telling me one thing. She’s just as scared as we are. That look on her face when she saw Rerarik? Did you see it?”

He glanced at her and remembered that sheer look of terror. “She knew he was coming to kill her. She knew he would do it. That’s some messed up family, whatever happened between them. But I don’t know if it’s that clear-cut. I think there’s something she isn’t telling us. Yet. But somehow, we’re going a way to beat that guy.”

“You make it sound like it’ll be easy. If we somehow can find Maggie on this god-forsaken planet, that’ll be a miracle by itself.” She finally nestled down on the bed, exhausted. “I hope you and I can cook up miracles like we’re world-class experts, because I think we’re going to be pushed beyond our bleeding limits on this.”

“We’ll make our own hope, Claire. The same way I always have.” He emphasized that personal vow, one that finally brought a pained smile to Claire's face.

"You know something? Anyone else, I'd think they were full of it. But you believe it, and that's why I know you'll find a way."

He lay back and felt fatigue like he had never before, and stared at the ceiling–finely fitted timber, all cut to the same length and carrying a rustic, wild west feel. The healers, making their rounds, were distant noises. He tried to relax…but couldn’t.

That face in that smoky visage. It reminded him of his father. That look of malice and disappointment, all rolled into one. Just the memory of it brought back a surge of hatred, and he curled his claws into his palms so tightly, he felt pinpricks of pain. Revarik. He just marched in and killed people. Defenseless people, not even members of the military. He had a face to match against the monsters, a foe to target all his efforts at, now.

A short while later, someone dimmed the strange, magical lights that floated in the air. Whether it was Telga's doing, or they were a different source for lighting, he didn’t know. But the darkened atmosphere, with naught but the ghostly visage of the nebula and the starlight outside the windows, did little to illuminate the room.

Except, for the fact that he could still see silhouettes and light-colored textures quite well. His night vision was, unironically, making it difficult to sleep. He stared aimlessly at the dark ambiance of the room. There were a few hushed whispers, of people in pain, or grief. One conversation that stood out was a young couple, a human man and woman, talking to each other, assuring each other that they were lucky.

He turned on his side, too exhausted to sleep. He was too much a foreigner, in a body that wasn't his. He’d have to make it his own…someday. He managed to weakly position his wing so he wasn't sleeping on it, and gazed unfocused out the window, small hints of firebug-like insects buzzing outside, winking on and off in response to one another.

Minutes turned to hours, or so it felt like to him. He gripped the pillow tightly–and likely put a hole or two through the cover, with his claws. Halsey, are you still there?

> Still am. Not like I can go anywhere. I presume you have a query?

He let out a soft sigh. Do you know what you are? Because I’m not sure I know what I am, anymore.

> That makes two of us. But I doubt you're one to leave a question unanswered, from what I know of you. As for what I might be…I can speculate, if you want.

Well, I've got one of two theories. Not that I shouldn't be freaking out right now, but…I'm either imagining you, in a mind slowly unraveling or… he rubbed at the bridge of his beak gently, like he would when he rubbed the bridge of his nose in a moment of stimming. I think…you're the Etteria. Or something within it.

> Of all the things you could focus on, you focus on me?

I can’t sleep. I might as well try to solve the mysteries I can. He heard the shift of springs on the cot and glanced over his shoulder to see Claire lay next to him, softly gripping his wings. She looked like she was barely awake, before she settled down, holding onto him gently and mumbling quietly. Well, this is awkward.

> I take it you two are close?

It’s…hard to explain. We haven't had it easy in our respective lives–mine with my sister disappearing, her with her family issues. We’ve tried to be there for one another. Claire and I are more like friends, than family members.

> I see. She’s…unusually determined, from what I observed, today.

She doesn’t let obstacles get in her way. She never did. He finally felt fatigue seep into his mind, and he closed his eyes. I’ve been thinking for a bit…if you're the Etteria, Halsey… then either you're a magical construct or a remnant of someone's consciousness. That's my theory. You know things I don't.

> How do you intend to prove it?

Well, for starters, staying alive. Second off…we need to test your capabilities. Because I get this feeling we’re going to need each other to survive…and figure out what we are.

> You might already have the answer to what you are, you know. What you are, is what you choose to be. A human, an engineer, a gestalted avian…perhaps more than that.

Hmm. There's wisdom in that. It’s…not as terrible as it could be. He dozed off to the sound of nightly birds and the buzz of insects in this forest, in a world that defied imagination.

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