Two days before the eleventh expedition into the Land of Solitude began.

As Stanley cautiously approached the desolate town, a pungent scent of soot and ash permeated the air, invading his nostrils. The ground beneath his feet transitioned from dry, compacted dirt to a scattered array of crushed stones, bearing witness to the relentless forces that had ravaged the area. Drawing nearer to the outer wall of the town, Stanley's eyes fixed upon a weathered sign suspended above the entrance. The vestiges of words once etched upon it were now mere ghosts, faded by the relentless passage of time. It stood as a silent testament to the existence of a nameless town secluded within a vast desert expanse.

The ferocious gusts of wind, previously hurling stinging particles of dust into Stanley's face, gradually subsided as he cautiously took his initial steps into the ghostly village. The streets lay deserted, strewn with debris and the remnants of utter devastation, while the houses stood in an unsettling state of disarray. Shattered fragments of glass littered the ground, bearing witness to the shattered dreams that once flourished within these walls. Decaying wood dangled precariously from the rafters of what were once bustling abodes. The wooden walls, weathered and worn, bore the unmistakable marks of decay, with rot creeping upward from the ground and mold festering on their weathered surfaces.

Dead trees, like solemn sentinels, dotted the sides of the road, their barren branches surrendering to the weight of desolation as they cascaded to the ground. Storefronts, or rather their feeble remnants, were now ensnared by an intricate web of weeds and creeping vines, suffocating the very life that once animated them. Stanley stood transfixed, his voice stolen by the haunting sight that unfolded before his eyes.

Turning left onto another desolate street, Stanley found himself confronted by a scene far less promising than the one he had just left behind. Houses, reduced to ruins, lay in complete disarray, while charred stones scattered throughout the ground seemed to bear the marks of an inferno long extinguished. In the crevices of these forsaken remnants, stubborn weeds defiantly clung to life. Even in the presence of faint signs of life left in his wake, the desolation that met Stanley's gaze left him utterly unconvinced that anyone had ever called this forsaken place home.

As Stanley pressed on, his footsteps echoed through the empty town, the resonant sound of his heels clicking against the cracked and fragmented stone. Along his path, he encountered a stone abode that defiantly withstood the test of time. Upon stepping inside, he discovered the remnants of a once-thriving blacksmith's workshop. Rusted swords and shields from a bygone era leaned against the walls, bearing witness to the skilled craftsmanship that once animated this place. In the center of the room, a silent and cold furnace stood as a poignant reminder of the dormant fires that once roared within. An anvil, corroded by the relentless march of oxidation, bore the scars of time, its surface cracked and chiseled.

Leaving the blacksmith's abode behind, Stanley continued his solemn exploration. Eventually, he stumbled upon what appeared to be the town square, now an unrecognizable labyrinth of collapsed structures and twisted metal. In the heart of this desolate expanse, a stone fountain sat forlornly, its once-joyful waters long evaporated, leaving a tangible sense of abandonment in its wake.

Among the wreckage and corroded iron, an enduring symbol of hope emerged—the chapel. Its lofty steeple, though diminished in stature by half, defiantly pierced the sky. While every other edifice had succumbed to the relentless march of time and decay, the chapel stood resolute, its roof nearly intact, and its sturdy walls a testament to resilience

Stanley approached the chapel.

"State your name and allegiance!!" A mysterious voice called from above. It was slightly lower pitched than Stanley's but its booming volume echoed throughout the village. Stanley stood silent.

A moment later, a large figure dropped from the chapel. He stood and faced Stanley. He was a man, just slightly taller than Stanley. His shoulders were broad and his hair was thick and brown. His eyes, a deep blue, pierced into Stanley's soul as he paced closer to him. His shirt was dirtied and earth-toned, with no visible tears. To accompany his shirt, his pants held multiple pockets and went down to his ankles, and his shoes were thick and durable. His face and arms showed scratches and cuts, while his chin was protected by a beard.

The man paced towards Stanley, circling around him before stopping in front of him. "An imperial uniform, not a design I'd seen before, but noticeable nonetheless. Who are you?"

Stanley stood, frozen.

The man stepped to Stanley, sticking his face in Stanley's, their noses a breath away from each other. "I must repeat myself, who are you?"

"S-Stanley, Stanley Freeman."

The mysterious man stepped away from Stanley

"Freeman." The man repeated the name to himself as if recalling a memory. "Ok, Mr. Stanley Freeman, I'll lay things down for you nice and simple. I have nineteen individual snipers pinpointed on your very location. They work for me. As soon as I give the signal, or you move, they will not hesitate to fire and kill. Do I make myself clear?"

Stanley nodded. He noticed an audible accent within the man's voice, but couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Good. Now answer my questions concisely and efficiently. Who is with you?"

"With me?" Stanley was taken aback. "Nobody is with me. I'm alone."

The man squinted in suspicion but seemed to accept the answer. "Next, what are you doing here in the Land of Solitude? Are you working with the Einrich Empire?"

"What?" Stanley chuckled. "No, no not at all. They're after me, that's why I'm in the Land of Solitude, to begin with."

The man paused, and stared Stanley directly in the eyes, sending shivers down his spine. "You mean to have me believe that you are being sought after by the Einrich Empire, and so you've deserted your country?"

Stanley nodded.

The man's mouth widened and exploded with laughter. He laughed so hard that he had to crouch to catch his breath. "Don't worry, you're not being followed," he said, still panting from his laughter. "Not out here." The man then turned his back to Stanley, walking into the chapel and waving goodbye to him. "Live your life well, Stanley Freeman."

Stanley was caught aback. He followed the man into the chapel, hoping to find more answers. "Wait, who the hell are you? Where is this place?"

The man reached the back corner of the chapel and began removing debris from the ground, revealing a trapdoor leading beneath the structure. "I'm under no obligation to tell you this, Stanley, but don't follow anyone in the Land of Solitude, regardless of who it is."

"You could at least give me some pointers, maybe a place I can go to? I'm not trying to run for the rest of my life."

The man removed the last of the debris covering the metal door. Lifting it up, he glared at Stanley. "You're in the Land of Solitude. Running is all you're gonna be doing now. Now get going." He climbed into the hole and disappeared into the darkness below.

Stanley peered into the square hole. A wooden ladder, showing no signs of age, led down to the ground where a singular torch illuminated the stone floor below. Having no other leads, he grabbed onto the ladder and followed the mysterious man down into the depths.

Reaching the bottom, the sunlight from above had all but disappeared, and in front of him stood a long hallway with a singular door at the end. The man, carrying the only source of light, led the way to the door at the end of the hallway.

"Woah!" Stanley shouted. "I had no idea chapels had these kinda things down here."

The man jumped and quickly jolted his head around. "You followed me down here? I thought I told you to get out of here." The man's eyes shot bullets towards Stanley, making his body shiver.

Swallowing his nervousness, Stanley spoke. "Of course I followed you down here," he retorted, "you haven't answered any of my questions, and you're the only person I've seen out here."

The man looked at Stanley for a few moments before turning around and mumbling to himself. Eventually, he began walking down the hallway, Stanley a few paces behind him. They reached the door and the man pulled a metal key from one of his many pants pockets. "The only one, huh?" He said while unlocking the door. "That will change, I guarantee you that."

Stanley followed the man through the door. Inside was a small room with several bookshelves lined up against the walls, each filled completely with large books. In the center of the room stood a small desk, big enough to hold one person and completely covered in books. The ground held scrolls, tapestries, and open books in no discernable pattern. The man put the torch in a torch holder along the back wall and sat down at the desk, opening a book that was already there.

"How'd you find this place?" Stanley questioned, running his finger along the many books.

"I just happened upon it," the man said begrudgingly. "I would enjoy it if you'd stop probing me for questions, thank you."

"Hey, fairs fair. You probe me I probe you."

"That's hardly the same thing-"

"Is it? Because last I checked there weren't any snipers upstairs. Even if there were they can't hurt me down here."

The man looked at Stanley staying silent. The two continued to stare at one another as if sizing each other up. After a minute of this mental battle, the man spoke. "Three questions. I asked you three questions, so you ask me three questions. Fairs fair. Afterward, you leave, and I never see you again. Deal?" The man closed his book and placed it on the desk. He crossed his arm as if waiting for what Stanley was to say.

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"Fine. Three questions." Stanley thought for a moment before speaking again. "First, who are you? I don't mean just your name. Where are you from, that sort of thing, why are you here?"

"That's more than one question, but fine. My name is Michael Hickhox, I'm a merchant from the Principality of Rivercrest. I've been wandering the Land of Solitude for longer than I can even remember."

"The pleasure's all mine." Stanley turned to face the books once again. He pulled out a random book and looked at the cover. It was written in a text he couldn't read. Not because it was faded, but because the writing was in a foreign language he had not even recognized. Looking back at Michael once again, "Ok, Michael Hickhox, second question: Where the hell are we? I was taught and I believed that nobody had ever lived in the Land of Solitude, barring the Men of Gordon. What is this town?"

Michael chuckled, not nearly as hard as on the surface, but still a hearty laugh that Stanley could hear from across the room. "First, let's get things straight. The Men of Gordon aren't here. They never existed to begin with. Sorry to burst your bubble, but from what I've learned only the empire teaches its youth about the Men of Gordon. If they did exist, I surely would have encountered 'em at some point, but they don't." Michael rubbed his hands together. "Now to your actual question, of course people lived out here before this was the Land of Solitude. Did you take basic history lessons? Before the Second Alcrestian War a hundred years ago, this place was thriving with life, and so too did this village."

Michael stood up and walked to one of the bookshelves on the back wall. He pulled a piece of parchment and laid it across the ground.

"We're actually in old imperial ground, Stanley," Michael pointed to an obscure place in the middle of the map. "In a town known formally as Clerud."

Stanley crouched next to the parchment. On it depicted a vastly different map from what he'd known of the continent. The far east was barely explored, and the empire was much larger. Just then, Stanley's head felt a ringing pain, unlike anything he'd felt before. He felt as if a knife had stabbed him in his head. With no hesitation, he screamed out in agony.

And then almost as quickly as it came, the pain dissipated.

"What the hell was that?" Michael exclaimed. "Are you all right."

Stanley looked at his hands. "I believe so. Where the hell did that come from?"

The two sat in silence for a moment. Once Stanley regained his composure, Michael began once again. "The village was abandoned in the war, and hasn't been repopulated since."

"Makes sense. Nobody wants to live on the front lines of a war."

Michael nodded. "Right. Nobody in their right mind would do that." He went silent before rolling the parchment up and returning it to its previous home. "And what of your last question?"

Stanley rose to his feet. He had received the information he wanted, so he put his mind to the future. I have to make it out of here, there isn't any way I'd survive longer than a week if I stayed out here. How can I get to Reinbose?"

Michael looked at him and burst out once again in his enormous laughter, this one lasting longer than the previous. Once he caught his breath, he looked at Stanley and immediately burst out into laughter again. After another few minutes of Michael cackling, he finally caught his breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Stanley Freeman. You're in the Land of Solitude now, there is no 'leaving'. You can't get to Reinbose. Even if you do, your clear imperial accent and body language will give you away. You'd be thrown in prison as soon as someone even speaks to you."

"So where can I go then? I can't return to Einrich. You say I can't go to Reinbose. Where else, then?"

Michael's smile vanished from his face. "You're really trying to leave."

"Yes!" Stanley exclaimed. "That's what I've been saying! Is it such a foreign concept that I'd want to live my life outside some desolate desert devoid of life? I'm not trying to kill any more giant black cats."

"Giant black cats? You mean Solitude Stalkers?"

"Yeah, whatever they're called, not trying to live my life with them."

"Hold up. You killed one of these 'giant black cats'?"

"Yeah? What's your point?"

Michael crossed his arms. "What did you say your last name was?"

"Freeman."

Michael's head cocked to the side, and his eyes squinted again. "You said you're trying to get to Reinbose?"

"Yes, or really anywhere I could live my life. I don't care."

Michael sat down at the desk once again and put his hand to his chin. Stanley, standing to his back now, watched as he cocked his head from side to side, mumbling strange words to himself. Suddenly, he slammed his head to the desk and yelled at himself. As if coming to terms with himself, he stood up and faced Stanley. "All right, I'm gonna offer this to you once, so listen up. I'll take you to Reinbose, an escort if you will. There's a town just on the border of the Land of Solitude called Greenwood. It's a hub for merchants like me, been there a few times."

"Great! I'll do it-"

Michael stuck his finger in Stanley's face. "I'm a merchant, aren't I? I'm not gonna do this for you for free. I'm gonna need a favor from you when we reach Greenwood. I won't delve into details now, but when we get there I'll tell you all about it." Michael stuck his hand towards Stanley, offering a handshake. "Do we have a deal?"

Stanley, with no hesitation, reached to grab Michael's hand, which was swiftly pulled away.

"Stanley," Michael began, "I want you to accept this knowing what's ahead of you. We've got a roughly nine-day trek through the deadliest place on Alcrest. Ein help us, we'll make it in eight. There might be things more deadly than you've ever encountered before. Are you still willing to travel across it?" Michael's hand slowly lowered again, returning to the position it once was.

Stanley, still with no hesitation, grabbed his arm and shook it. "My life is practically over; I'd gladly do whatever it is you ask of me when we reach Greenwood."

"Good. It's midday already, so we'll leave at first sun tomorrow. Take this time to do as you wish. I'll read for a little while, I'll meet you outside the chapel in 3 hours' time."

Stanley nodded and began towards the door before his thirst returned. "You don't happen to have water, do you?"

Michael sighed and put his book on the desk. "Fine then, let's go to my place."

After locking the door to the underground library, Michael led Stanley back to the surface, closing and hiding the trapdoor they exited from. Michael led Stanley out of the chapel and through the abandoned streets of Clerud. They exited the town square and reached a portion of the town in much better condition. The houses, though still destroyed, were visibly houses, containing two floors and better architecture. Michael directed Stanley to one of the houses, a house sitting on the corner of an intersection.

"This is where I've been staying. Come inside."

The door was dislocated from its hinges, and the walls were chipping away, but the house was intact. The ground floor had signs of furniture once existing, and water dripped from the cracked ceiling. The windows were broken and charred, and the floor was covered in cobwebs and dust.

Heading upstairs, Stanley immediately saw the signs of life. Several guns lay about the floor, and a workbench sat against the wall. A natural bed had been made next to it, facing the staircase so one could attack any intruders. There was a brown satchel hanging from the wall, and several metal flasks strewn about.

"Grab any flask you want," Michael said, "They're all filled with water, some might be empty, though."

Stanley picked up the nearest flask and popped it open. He guzzled the liquid inside quicker than he'd ever done before. The water rushed down his throat and dropped into his stomach, cooling his entire body down. His throat was quenched, and his thirst replenished.

"Do you have any sort of weapon?" Michael asked, walking over to the workbench.

"Like a gun? No, I don't."

"Isn't that uniform from the military? How'd you expect to survive out here without a gun?"

Stanley shrugged.

"And that uniform is too revealing. We need something for you to hide in. Wait one moment." Michael ran downstairs in a flash. Stanley was tempted to follow him, but refrained from doing so. Eventually, Michael returned with several clothes in hand. "These are old ones of mine, but try 'em on. Best not reveal where you hail from so easily, right?"

Stanley removed his uniform and tried a few pieces of clothing on. He settled for a black shirt and dark brown pants with not nearly as many pockets as Michael's. The black shirt hugged his skin, allowing him to move fluidly, and the pants were just the right size. His makeshift bandage got in the way, and Michael offered a real bandage. He grabbed one from the satchel and removed Stanley's old sleeve.

"You said you had an injury here?"

Stanley looked at his shoulder. To his surprise, the injury had all but faded, leaving three noticeable scars in its place. "That doesn't make any sense, I swear it was bleeding out last night!"

"Maybe you were just dehydrated," Michael responded. "Hallucinations happen all the time when you are."

Stanley went quiet. He couldn't accept that as an excuse for his wound disappearing, but he had no choice. How else would a deep gouge evaporate in a day?

Michael stepped away from Stanley and returned the bandage to his satchel. "So, what kind of gun do you want?"

Stanley looked up at Michael, who'd returned to his workbench. "Anything works, really."

"That's what everyone says, but everyone has their own gusto when firing a gun. Do you want something more accurate, or something that fires rapidly, or maybe something in the middle?"

"Truly, anything works." Stanley stepped to the wall where guns were lined up in a neat fashion. His eyes caught a glimpse of a light gray handgun lying quietly on the ground. Michael saw his eyes lock onto the gun and quickly snatched it up.

"An Abbasi-X7. A reliable, accurate gun. Easy to hide. You have good taste." Michael quickly slammed the gun on the table and began tinkering with it.

"It was simply one that caught my eye, nothing more." Stanley watched Michael move parts around with meticulous accuracy. His hand glided across the machine, moving into place various switches, springs, and parts. His fingers moved like water flowing down a pipe, and his hands held the gun with care found only with mothers and their children.

When Michael had finished tinkering with the gun, he closed it up and handed it to Stanley. "It's ready to go." Michael stepped away from the table and grabbed a small pouch off the ground. "Here's the ammo for it." Michael walked over to the staircase and began heading down. "As I said, we leave at first sun tomorrow. Do whatever you need to do by then."

* * *

That night, the air was cool and the wind was silent. Stanley had spent the rest of the day exploring the homes surrounding Michael's. There wasn't much to see outside the occasional half-broken piece of furniture or an old book strewn about. When Stanley returned to Michael's temporary home, the sun had begun to set, making the sky orange and the streets a dark shade of red. Stars began to appear in the sky and the noises of the night had begun.

Michael had been in his home when Stanley returned, reading one of his books. He looked up at Stanley briefly before returning to his reading. Still looking at his book, he ushered to the makeshift bed in the corner of the room.

"You can sleep there tonight."

Stanley stared at him, puzzled. "Where will you sleep?"

"That doesn't matter. I'll be out when you go to bed and I'll be out when you wake up. When and where I go to sleep is none of your concern."

Stanley began walking over to his new bed before asking Michael if he could read one of the books lying about the floor. With a slight nod, he picked up one of them with a thick spine and a hard leather cover and sat at his bed.

The bed was comfortable, though dead grass pierced into his skin unless he shifted about. He found a nice spot and flipped open the book. Inside, there were symbols Stanley didn't even recognize, similar to the ones on the cover of the book he'd picked out in the underground library, but slightly different.

Some time had passed before the sky had darkened to the point where the symbols were impossible to read. Michael had taken notice of the darkness and slammed his book shut. Standing up and bidding goodnight to Stanley. Without a word further, he stepped downstairs and exited the house with minimal sound.

Stanley had grown tired of trying to read the incomprehensible symbols, so he too closed his book and laid his head on the grass. Surprisingly, it supported his head quite nicely. Soon enough, he had fallen asleep.

* * *

Michael's word held true. When Stanley awoke, there was nobody in the house but him. Thinking Michael would be in the hidden library, he grabbed his newly acquired gun and began walking to the central square.

The sky was covered with clouds, and the air was much cooler than the day before. A certain moisture hung about the air, giving the weeds some weight under the small droplets of water. The night sky began to appear more blue as the coming of dawn neared. When Stanley reached the central square, Michael had already been there, waiting for him. He wore his satchel around his shoulder and posted his own gun on his shoulder.

"Ready to go?"

"Let's."