16. The Ranger Who’s Friend-Shaped

More blue alien corridors. Except, this time, I’m not alone.

I don’t mean that in an I’m-surrounded-by-more-robot-bullshit sense. I mean there’s someone else here. Another Portallen.

I don’t see them right away. I don’t even hear or smell them, assuming my Earthling senses can even be relied upon to do that. No, it’s more like that ‘choice’ I had earlier with the two Portals. I feel the presence of a second Portallen, like the very air contains some kind of coded language that my subconscious can somehow decipher.

The second Portallen feels like warmth. He feels like comfort and floof. He feels like…

… A dagger that pokes into my back, which as you all know is the universal signal for: move an inch, and you’re dead.

I freeze. What else can I do? I still can’t see Feverfew the Cat Boy Ranger, but I can definitely hear and smell him now. He sounds like a low growl and smells—funnily enough—a bit like fresh laundry.

I’ll be honest. Right now, I’m actually more amazed than scared. How did he sneak up on me like that? Zero presence until the very moment the dagger dug into my skin.

A shy, floofy, adorable murder ninja. Just like Blueberry, our old family cat!

But right now, that murder ninja clearly sees me as some kind of threat, which makes me think of two possibilities.

First: Feverfew is part of some alien Portal conspiracy and has it out for me like the Tube Man I’ve just dispatched. I don’t really think this is true, though. Otherwise, he’d just stab me without asking, and besides, I don’t want to believe this to be the case.

Second, and IMO the more likely scenario: Feverfew is just as confused about this whole thing as I am, and is just being cautious and mistrustful like a good catperson should. I’m sure he has tons of Portal travel under his belt and likely none of them sent him back to the ‘Trial Realm’ like this one. The only (and highly suspicious) variable here is yours truly, and I can’t blame him for thinking I might be the one that’s part of a conspiracy, if there even is one.

At any rate, Feverfew proceeds with the stick-up by saying a few gruff words in Malik-Ennar. Even with the situation being what it is, I can’t help but notice that the accent is quite different from that spoken by Leto, Belpha, or even some of the other Beastkin I’ve met in Altikor. Not that I would’ve understood it any better if the accent were more familiar.

“Sammo?” I reply hopefully. Uncertainly.

‘Sammo’, if you recall, is the Malik-Ennar word for ‘come on’ or ‘let’s go’. In the brief time I’ve spent among the Malik-Issen, however, I’ve since learned that ‘sammo’ can also mean ‘together’ or even ‘ally’.

It’s all about the contexts and nuances. Right now, I’m thankful to be speaking a language where one simple word can mean many different things.

The dagger stays on my back, but its point is blunted by apparent hesitation. After a beat, Feverfew asks me something in a low voice. The only word of it I catch is ‘Relik.’

“Relic?” I say quickly—almost eagerly. “You mean this old thing? I can put it down if that’s what you want.”

I begin to do just that, only for Feverfew’s dagger to dig deeper in response. Must’ve spooked him with my sudden movement. I try to defuse the situation the only way I know how, which is in English.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy. I’m cool, you’re cool. Just… let’s both of us take it easy, alright?”

I don’t know if it’s my expert negotiation skills or the wimpy tremor in my plea that causes Feverfew to reduce the pressure once more. Either way, I take the opportunity to slowly bend down and lay the STSG on the floor. When I get up again—slowly—I keep both hands in the air like I’m trying desperately not to end up on a LiveLeak video.

Only then do I feel the dagger lift completely off my back. I hear some rustling noises behind me, followed by what sounds like the tautening of a string. Oh. I think I know what that is…

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Feverfew says something again in a calm enough tone that suggests he’s ready to ‘talk’ face-to-face. I turn around—slowly, and with my hands still up in the air—to see Cat Boy slouching a few yards away from me.

Just as I suspected, he’s now got a bow in hand, with one fletched arrow nocked but not drawn. I barely know anything about the Beastkin Rangers of Malikor, but right now, both their threat and implication are crystal clear in my mind. One wrong move, and this dude can and will kill me faster than the blink of an eye.

So… I’m unarmed. I’m at the mercy of a murder ninja. And neither of us speak each other’s language. This seems like a worst case scenario by any stretch of the imagination, and yet, a sick part of me just wants to smile.

You know why? Because what I just listed also perfectly describes my interactions with Blueberry, our old family cat! At least way back when the two of us were still getting to know each other—when she was just a kitten and I was a snot-nosed hooman kid.

Another burst of homesickness hits me then, this time brought on by my little tuxedo lady who’s been in cat heaven for a good few years. And please don’t tell my mother, but this bit of recollection makes me cry actual tears.

No joke. I’m a grown-ass man, and I’m full-on sobbing in front of a Beastkin Ranger who’s got an arrow with my name on it. I can’t stop myself. I miss my cat, but it’s (much) more than that, and not everything can be put into words.

And I must’ve looked so sorry and so deranged that Feverfew just lowers his bow and drops his shoulders. The two of us just stare at each other for a while—me through a veil of hot tears and he with this horrified look on his face like he’s just unknowingly clicked on a LiveLeak video.

Eventually, Cat Boy trudges over to me—sans threat or implication—and puts a furry paw on my spasming shoulder. He then leads me by the shoulder to the side of the hallway where he’s set down his rucksack. He gestures for me to sit.

In my better moments, I would’ve refused out of a sense of propriety. That’s just the kind of upbringing I had. But right now, I’m decidedly in one of my worst moments, so I plop my ass on top of a stranger’s rucksack without a second thought.

I don’t know what it is man. I think… it all just hit me at once. Every panic, worry, fear, disappointment, and absolute confusion I’d been shoving into the unseen recesses of my mind… ever since my whole life turned upside down.

Yeah, I thought I could hack it. I thought I was one of those cool Isekai MCs, you know? The kind that could roll with the punches and make the most of my new life without a care about my old one.

But the truth is I miss my parents. I miss my sister and my nephews. I miss my dead cat. I even miss my boring Earthling job, at least on some level. Helping doctors reset their password is no magical adventure with an Elf Girl, but it’s also not a life-or-death duel against an alien robot.

As my full-on sobbing gradually settles into a few sniffles here and there, Feverfew clucks over me like a mother hen. Okay, no, he doesn’t cluck, but he does hand me a waterskin to drink from and also sees to my damaged left leg.

Oh yeah, my leg. Until Cat Boy bends down to inspect it, I’d basically forgotten that I was hobbling around on a bum leg. He pulls out this bottle of greenish liquid that clearly has the look of a ‘healing potion’, and… yes, heals me with it.

It’s not how you’d expect a healing potion to work though. Or maybe it’s exactly how you’d expect it to work, if only you apply some real-world logic to it. He basically wets a cloth with the green liquid and dabs my wounds with it. It stings, kinda like how alcohol might on an open wound, but it’s also got this instant analgesic effect that—in the moment—is soothing to both body and soul.

Feverfew finishes off by spreading a thin layer of the ‘potion’ on my leg and wrapping everything up in a neat dressing. He’s clearly done this before—probably just as many times as he’s ‘correctly’ used a Portal. The healing effect isn’t quite as fast or potent as Leto Iriden’s spells, but it’s infinity times better than any first aid I could’ve done on myself.

Afterwards, he takes a seat himself—on the blue Portal Realm floor because his rucksack is taken. Then we both just sit for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.

No words are exchanged, not because they can’t be understood, but because they’re not needed. That’s something we both can understand, at least in this moment that’s both separate and shared.

After my sniffles have fully subsided, and when I feel ready to pretend to be a grown-ass man again (albeit one with swollen, bloodshot eyes), Feverfew and I both stand at the same time, as if in unspoken agreement. It’s time to get our (mostly my) shit together and move on with our life/adventure.

The Ranger slings his bow over his shoulder, which is the universal signal for: “I’ve decided not to kill you for now”. He then picks up my sword and hands it to me, which is the universal signal for: “and I trust you not to kill me, either”.

“Sammo?” I say hoarsely—and with a touch more certainty than my earlier rendition.

“Sammo,” Feverfew replies in a gruff accent that I’m quickly growing accustomed to.

I can’t believe I’m telling you all this in such gory detail, but yes, every word of it is true. I just defused my first ever knifepoint stand-off, while simultaneously making my first ever Beastkin friend.

And I did it by having a good cry about Blueberry. May she rest in peace.