While wavering between consciousness and passing out, Sigmund saw glimpses of an impossible landscape. A dimension with infinite space leading every way, yet surrounded with myriad-colored wrapping paper. Further, almost out of reach yet so close, was something else. Or there was not. It was something so forcefully not there, as if it was a negative space, a void of nothingness. Yet, it whispered something. Something he wouldn’t remember, as his head would ache for every moment he tried. Whether it was a dream or something else, he would never know.

Indeed, there was something. A moment between the portal and the new sands, erased from time and space. Sigmund found himself surrounded by colored wrapping paper, continuing forever in all directions, as if the sky itself was replaced by it. There was not even ground, instead, his feet stood on nothing, with more colored paper waiting far below. He soon found that he was not alone. Something floated toward him, aggressively colorful and oddly shaped. Moving slowly like an escaped balloon, it seemed to take forever to arrive. Yet, as he blinked, the thing was gone.

“I see, I see!” A nosy noise burst laughing behind him. The words it spoke itself were unintelligible, but the meaning somehow translated itself in his mind.

Sigmund stumbled to nothing that was the ground. The thing was on full display. Wrapped in yellow, baggy overalls full of different colored dots, with a pale face, large red nose, and long crimson mane of wild, floating hair, Sigmund shouted in panic at the demonic clown.

“What the hell are you?” He asked, stumbling away from it.

“Ooh, a what instead of who, you’re sharp, aren’t you?” The clown smiled with needle-shaped teeth. “I am Rethgual, nice to meet you, human of another realm!”

“Another realm?” Sigmund felt sick without a sense of direction. “Where am I?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Rethgual threw his hand. “You’re currently in my private space. I’ll let you explore the new world with your heart's content soon enough.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just ask some questions to get this thing spinning.”

Though still filled with fear and horror, Sigmund tried to collect himself from the floor.

“What questions?” He stood up.

“You see, I was supposed to find a solution to this a while ago, but I kind of forgot. Long story short, my bosses gave me the final notice, and here we are,” Rethgual shrugged with a sly smile.

Sigmund blankly at the eccentric entity. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“So straightforward. Well, onto the question,” The thing put on its reading glasses and took out a piece of paper from nowhere. “Have you ever thought the world is a bit too boring?”

“... What?”

“Please answer properly. Yes, no, maybe,” Rethgual flicked his glasses. “Oh, and please don’t say it’s complicated.”

“No? I mean, I did but…”

“Oh, what did I just tell you?”

“... Can I ask a question?”

“We are kinda low on time, even when frozen in it,” The thing looked at its frozen wristwatch. “Fine, but make it short.”

“Are you the gatekeeper here? Do you see everyone who travels here?”

“That was two questions, but alright. Sort of but not really, and yes but only if it’s funny.”

“Then, did you see my family? My wife and daughter, red-headed?”

“Ooh, never had anyone come looking for someone they knew here… Except god. So many people came here looking for their god for some reason. Do I look like a god dispensary or what?”

“But… are they truly there, er, here?”

“Listen here, Buster. You already got two for a discount. You can’t add one free extra coupon in there.”

“Please, I would do anything to find them.” Sigmund dropped to his knees.

“Well, fine then, but just this once.” Rethgual scratched his red head, molding it like clay. “Could be, actually. There were those two like that. Yelling, ‘Where are we?’ ‘Dad, where are you?’”.

“Catherine, Joyce! Where can I find them?”

“Sorry, kid, but that’s strike three. I gave you two for one, but that’s it.”

“Wait, but-”

“No, we are done here. I got what I wanted, and you’re not it. In fact, you’re out!”

“No, that’s not fair! You can’t just-” Sigmund disappeared in a flash.

“Have fun finding them, Mr. Family Guy. I don't need you anymore.” The spirit smiled with wide, pointy teeth.

The next view Sigmund would see was the beach, without any memory of what happened. Even though the space lingered in his mind like a transient dream, the entity itself remained out of memory, yet the information around the void formed into a sort of outline, like the clean shape left by a picture frame against a shaded wallpaper. It bothered him for a while, yet every time he tried to talk about it to Polly and Grigori, a great feeling of dread overcame him. It was like someone held a gun against his head, and a single word would pull the trigger. The memory started to erode, and after only a few days, it had all if not fully left his mind. Only the vivid urge to find his family remained, now stronger than ever.

Sigmund woke with the worst headache, surrounded by white, limestone walls. He stumbled into a worn bed filled with straws, trying to make sense of his surroundings. On a nearby night table was an assortment of fruits, a rotisserie of meat, and a ceramic jug. Overcome with hunger, he took a pale, round fruit and stuffed it in his mouth. The taste was bitter and tang, with the overwhelming amount of juices pouring down his chin. Gulping it down, he noticed a knife prepared inside a large tough-skinned fruit, with red juice pouring out of it. He skinned it the best he could, revealing the red, paste-like flesh. In only one bite, he realized his mistake. There was a stone in the middle, which almost fractured his tooth. The flesh itself was mellow with little taste yet an odd, grainy texture. The exotic smell of spices attracted Sigmund’s nose toward the meat, which he ripped out of the wooden stick in a single bite and pull. After only eating bugs, an assortment of small reptiles, and tough, burned meat for days, the manifold layer of spices on top of the tender, juicy meat felt like a touch of heaven. He would have kept chewing on it forever, but it melted away in only a few bites. He could not stop himself from stuffing his mouth full until a bite too large got stuck in his throat. The piece felt awkward and would only worsen as his dry throat could not gulp it down. He took a mug and poured the jug’s contents frantically into it. The yellow liquid had a sweet smell, which he sadly had no time to appreciate. To his fortune, the juice helped to lubricate his throat and push the meat down to his stomach.

He felt rejuvenated enough to start moving around. Guided by a small breeze, he ventured toward an open window. It revealed a chattering plaza of cloaked beastmen selling and buying around stalls of various sizes and shapes. It was also when Sigmund saw for the first time domesticated animals. For someone of his world, the view was bizarre, if not humorous. As apparent steeds, the beasts used crocodile-like creatures, though instead of barely above the ground, they stood tall with long legs going straight down on the sides of the body as if it was standing on stilts. While resting, the reptile’s feet would bend back sideways, leaving the elbows sticking out and the feet themselves underneath the belly. There was a watering hole for the animals, which revealed how the creatures would drink with such tall legs. While their heads could bend only so much, barely touching the ground, its tube-like tongue dropped out to the water and supposedly sucked the water inside its mouth. Some were being fed by their owners with some type of meat, which they would toss around until gulping down the ripped shreds. There were also pack animals carrying supplies on sled-like carriages, but they seemed normal compared to the tall crocodiles. They were goat or ox-like creatures full of long hair, making it hard to distinguish any features besides a pair of horns curving from the top of their head toward what probably was their snout.

Sigmund could have spectated the scene for hours, but his observations were interrupted as a tall door opened behind him. It was Melune with a pair of new clothes in her hand.

“Sadig!” Sigmund welcomed her.

“Ohan, Ziegmunt!” She greeted them and offered the clothes to him. “Dohant.”

“For me?” He pointed at them.

Melune nodded with a smile. “Jarbitai.”

While the fit was not perfect, the long, breathable clothes were much better suited for the climate than his. Melune watched with cheer and anticipation. Along with the cloak was a turban, which she helped to wrap around his head before the two headed out.

They thanked the beast innkeeper on their way out, where Sigmund noticed that the beast was missing some of his fur. He tried to cover the bald spot on his head with a tall hat, yet proudly displayed hairless lines along his hands, similar to the two beastmen in the cave. They seemed to have a purpose beyond a mere fashion choice, but the meaning was hard to figure out. The amount could been a sign of age, yet even Melune only had no more than fourteen bracelets.

Meanwhile, the two engaged in some conversation.

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(Thank you for providing us shelter, brother.) Melune bowed her head. (It is good to see that Qarya has not changed since I last visited.)

(Spare me such courtesy, great sage.) The innkeeper shook his head. (If it were anyone but you, I would not have opened up my doors.)

(I am not worth more than any other Zou or human. Each life is equally valuable,) Melune reminded.

(Do not misunderstand, lady Melune! I merely want to keep me and my family safe.) He frantically corrected himself. (You see, I heard rumors that some men in black are searching for people around here.)

(Searching humans?) Melune’s ears rose.

(Yes. Haven’t seen many humans pass through our village for some time, except your traveling partner.)

Melune glanced at Sigmund, filled with worry. The chatter from the nearby café became white noise as her back and tail filled with goosebumps.

(Do you remember where they went?) She asked.

(Of course. My memory is good, even in my old age.)

(Coincidentally, how are the routes to Split Mountain?)

(Traffic has been low. Some bandits have taken hold of the mountain passage. You should stick to the roads if you are going there.)

(Thank you for the information,) Melune nodded her head.

(I am honored by such words, great sage.) Recep took off his hat and bowed down.

(Remember the words of The Kodaw: God may assign you with sudden duties to test your fate.)

(Of course, I remember. Safe travels!) He waved.

The two walked to the plaza to purchase goods for their travels. As they left the door, a lone figure stood from his table and walked over to the front desk. It slammed its bald hand on the desk, save for patches of hair on the knuckles. The human had a friendly face, that of a wandering salesman with a pair of snappy eyebrows peeking over his round sunglasses and a neck scarf over his plain cotton clothes.

(Here’s money for the tea,) He said in another language.

Recep happily took the cash. (Thank you, come again!)

(Say, was that just a wandering sage?) He gestured to the bead door.

(You mean Lady Melune?) He asked while counting the money. (Yes, her presence has blessed the whole village.)

(But who was the man with her? Another sage? Don’t they usually travel alone?)

Recep stopped himself from spilling the beans. He was amused by the talkative customer, yet as the puzzle pieces started to come together, he was already too close.

(I don’t know. Didn’t bother to ask.)

(Oh, then never mind. It was just a bit odd, wasn’t it?) He kept bugging in, leaning against the desk.

(A bit, yes, but I do not mind other people’s business,) Recep tried to step back.

(Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude!) The man stood up. (I can get a bit too curious from time to time.)

The beastman could not read his mood at all. He was brutally honest, yet his tone had a trace of some type of motif, just faint enough to seem like blind curiosity.

(Say, can we start over?) The man stretched his hand out.

Though hesitant, Recip decided to take it, counting on the public space as a safe place if things suddenly turned awry.

(Say, Mr. Malik,) The man dropped his glasses to the tip of his nose. (Did you know it is wrong to lie to government officials?) He tightened his grasp and opened his eyes.

Recip saw two red dots light up before him, pulsing with crimson light. A flash blinded his eyes. His hand began shaking with unrelenting fright, his weak heart beating itself to death as cold sweat dripped across his worn face. The man shook his hand as normal and let go. Still, Recip’s body would not stop shivering. It was as if he had witnessed death firsthand, like seeing an apex predator eye to eye. In his mind, he was already dead, yet there was not a single scratch on him, save the redness around his wrist from the tight handshake.

(Is something wrong?) The man asked, putting up his glasses. (Perhaps something weighing on your mind?)

(What did you-) Recip struggled to breathe.

(Now, tell me, you bald rat. Where were they going?) He leaned further with a red glow behind his glasses.

The man noticed the café had fallen silent. He turned to see a dozen beastmen grasping their hilts with a growling frown.

(Is there something wrong?) One of them stepped forth.

(No, not at all.) The man put up his hands with whimsy. (Right, Mr. Malik?) He turned to him.

Recip had gotten enough to his senses to answer. (Y-yes, we are alright.) He worried about his safety.

The beasts sat back down, side-eyeing the situation from their seats.

(So, the place.) The man turned back to the counter.

Recip gulped. (East. That’s all they said.)

The man stared at him intently, the glow intensifying each moment. The bald beast could feel his fur turn white from the stress.

(Right-o!) The man waltzed out. (Good day to you!)

Outside, his smile turned sour as he took out a napkin from his pocket and began cleaning his right hand. (Ugh, I touched that dirty beast.) He threw it in the wind. (Sly old fox. It knew where they were going, but I can’t cause a scene here. Boss would chew me out for good.) His mind began to ponder. (East, huh? Could they be going to Puerta Blanca? Since they are trying to hide their traces so well, I guess they won’t be using roads. I need to catch them before they head out.)

Meanwhile, Sigmund watched as Melune bargained for one of the long-legged crocodiles. Unfortunately for her, she chose the hardest haggler on the West Coast. Anya the cheap was all but cheap in her prices and stern as bedrock in her deals.

(Five hundred doli,) Melune insisted.

(Seven hundred. A special deal.) Anya shook her loose head. (Bococho is my fastest ride!) She patted it on the head and gave it some jerky.

(I am on a pilgrimage. Please, have a heart.)

(I would say the same, great sage! You are breaking mine!) She covered her head to cry fake tears.

(You are aiding a greater purpose. Kodaw is sure to reward you.)

(Yet you refuse to aid my family,) She cried.

(Fine, six hundred.) Melune gave in with a sigh. (Do not forget that Kodaw does not look well upon greed.)

(Deal!) Anya’s frown turned upside down as fast as her hands grasped together.

Melune reluctantly handed over a pile of cash, which the merchant took in a swift flash and started counting. After checking the amount, she happily gave the reins to her.

(Return it to my nephew Yimbe once you get there. He lives right along the route, just before the mountains,) The lady wrote a note to her.

(We will. You have my word,) Melune took it and hopped on.

(You better, or else you will have my family running after you,) Anya pointed to her with squinty eyes.

(I am a sage!) Her ears frowned.

(I am not.) She put the money in her pocket.

With her funds depleted, Melune rode the camedile with Sigmund keeping a tight grip on the back. Not long after, a lone hooded figure arrived at the scene.

(Excuse me, lady.) He raised his arm.

(Are you looking to buy?) Anya’s eyes lit up with money signs. (Lofi here is my fastest ride!) She patted it on the back.

(Did a sage and a human just leave here?) He pointed at the entrance.

(I do not talk for free.) She rubbed her wrinkly fingers together.

(This is official business, lady.)

(Oh, yeah? And where is your badge, young man?)

The man knew smooth talk did not work with the old lady. He promptly took out a card out of his pocket and showed it to her.

(Agent Buzzard, MIB.) He nodded smugly.

(MIB? Is this some type of joke? What would a government agent be doing here?) She squinted her eyes.

(I cannot tell more than that we are working in this area.)

(So you are those dark figures going around here? The ones who formed the Forbidden Shore?) Anya frowned with an unforgiving glare. (You shut down one of my most profitable routes! Do you know how much I’ve lost because of your constant meddling?)

(That is not our concern. Are you going to comply, or do I have to write a fine?)

(Well, excuse me, Mr. Buzzard, if that is your real name, but I have read the law, and it says that as long as you aren’t suspecting me of any wrongdoing, I do not need to answer any of your damn questions.)

(How do you know that?) Buzzard raised his eyebrows.

(Merchants need to know the law so they won’t get screwed over by the likes of you. Oh, and I wouldn’t try any threats on me. I have stood my ground against bandits, both regular and official, like you. If I was still in my prime, you would already be looking for your teeth next time you shit. Now, get the hell out of my face.)

Buzzard dropped the last of his smile. He could tell she was a hardened veteran of a merchant, and she had played him like a cheap fiddle. A large vein on his forehead was ready to pop over his calm face. A red glow emanated behind his sunglasses. (You leave me no choice.) He slipped his hand into his pocket.

Anya knew to be wary. Her hands stayed together in her long, hanging sleeves, ready to strike.

His hand flashed out of the pocket. The beast was ready to throw a hidden knife but kept her cool. With cold steel in her old hand, she looked in surprise at his hand.

(Does five thousand help you remember?) Buzzard took a pile of bills out of his wallet.

She laughed. (I saw that ten thousand doli bill.)

(You are one ruthless wrinkly raisin,) Buzzard’s face turned equally red as his eyes.

(Each insult is a thousand extra.) She calmly extorted.

His fist clenched the papers into mush. The crimson glow intensified underneath his glasses, but the seller paid no mind. Bitter like a lemon garnished with soy, he subdued his murderous intent.

(I will see that your business is run down to the ground.) He gave the money along with the crushed bills from his hand.

(They must pay you well to be so irresponsible with your money,) Anya straightened the bills before sneaking them in her pocket.

(Yes, thank you. Now, the ride, please.) He reached for the reins.

(There was no talk about that,) She pulled them away. (I am not giving my rides for free.)

Buzzard glared at the old beast with seething rage piercing right through her, which she completely ignored and simply pointed back at his wallet.

(Considering your generous donation, I will give you a special deal. A thousand for my best ride.)

Thoroughly done with the interaction and person in question, Buzzard gave in.

(Fine,) He sighed and gave the bill.

(Pleasure doing business with you,) She smiled.

(No need to lie,) Buzzard retorted, hopping onto his ride.

(I will take on barking dogs like you all day if it makes me a pretty penny.) She licked her chapped lips, thinking of all the things she could buy with it.