THE DOORS SWING OPEN.

A crowded hall is revealed behind the double doors. Men and women are seated at tables and chairs, filling the chamber with clamor and the clanging of metal. They laugh, they drink, they cheer, and they chatter. Perspiration forms from the garish heat baking the room and stains them with a coat of sheen over their tanned skins.

Their clothes stick to their bodies— some kind of cloth that tightly clings onto them, like a newborn to their mother. These people are mostly dressed in a tunic paired with some kind of trouser. Even the women. They do not wear robes or wraps. The designs of their clothing are not intricate, woven from seamstresses who have spent decades cultivating their craft, weaving their silk as a spider spins its web. Instead, it is simple and it gets the job done.

The joyous atmosphere is almost palpable. They are most certainly unaware of the destruction that was carried out up above. And why would they know? The wooden doors swing shut behind me, and it is almost like the outside world is cut off, no noise seeping into this bubble.

I notice some markings are engraved around the doorway; the patterns are simplistic, yet I can sense power there. Not Qi, and yet... Some kind of enchantment? I think as I examine them. A dim glow escapes from the symbols, oozing out these ethereal red flakes that phase through my hand. Interesting.

Taking a step back, I find the boy who saved me standing right next to me. He peers at me with round eyes. Brown eyes. And blond hair. I have never seen such a combination before, but just as I think to question him about it, he speaks.

“Z...q…!”

Right, we can’t understand each other. I feel my grip around the metallic head of the Esh grow tighter. I want to let out a frustrated sigh, but I steel myself. A calm washes over me. I begin to meditate, mentally massaging my worries out of my mind.

The boy takes my hand and leads me through the rambunctious room. We skirt around the rows of tables, passing by the flitting blobs of red that I have already grown used to seeing. The candelabra lining the walls cast our shadow upon the crowd.

A man drinks too much and falls from his chair, eliciting a boisterous laughter from his friends. Scantily dressed women dance, spreading their arms as the thin strips of translucent cloth stretch and cover them like a veil. A couple stumbles away from a table, cutting us off and disappearing down a corridor on one side of the room.

I follow the boy until he brings me to an arched entrance. There is a woman standing there, her hands are crossed over her chest as she leans against the wall. She stands and inspects me with azure eyes that match the color of her hair.

“X…?” she asks the boy dubiously.

“P…!” he replies, almost hopping on his feet as he gesticulates wildly. At one point, he even tries to mimic the kick I threw— the one which sliced the pair of metallic beings in half— before he finishes, “X…! K...z...q!”

The woman scoffs and thumbs at the room. The boy excitedly runs in, so I take it as my cue to enter as well. I walk into a stone room filled with tapestries hanging off the side of the walls; the noise from the crowd muffles and I find myself in a more secluded area.

Only three other people are in this room. Two men and a woman. One of the men rises to his feet as he sees the boy and rushes over. A father? I observe as he picks up the boy and cradles him in his arms. Or some kind of older brother. There are a myriad of possibilities here, however one thing is for sure and that is that they are close.

The woman— an elder— remains seated, prying at me with her eyes. Not suspiciously like the one outside. Instead, she seems like she is evaluating me. Weighing my presence. I politely smile back to her and take a light bow. She does not seem offended, but she refuses to return the gesture.

The last man takes a moment to stand up. He deliberately pushes his chair back and approaches me. Looking at me with his crimson eyes, he casually walks my way as he runs a hand through his black hair. Normal colored hair.

There is a sword sheathed around his waist— he is the only person in the room armed with any sort of weapon. I warily fix my gaze on him as he produces his hand. He holds it forward and seems to say something. “X…?”

“X…! K...z!” the boy shouts an answer as he struggles in the arms of the other man. Finally managing to wriggle free, he scrambles over to us. “X…!” he repeats himself.

The man with the sword places a hand on his chin and scrutinizes me. I raise both my hands and speak slowly. “Apologies, but I do not understand what you are saying.”

He looks over at the boy with a look of surprise before nodding. A few words are exchanged, until they seem to reach some kind of agreement; the man turns back to me and clears his throat. He opens his mouth and points at himself. I cock my head.

“I cannot speak your language—” I start. He cuts me off by pointing at my mouth, as if to indicate the words I have just spoken. My gaze follows his hand as it then rests in the direction of the Esh’s head. “Do you want this?” I ask and hold it up.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

There are more words exchanged; the man raises an open palm expectantly and once again points at his throat. I narrow my eyes. I feel like I know what he is trying to tell me, but the question is: do I trust him?

Certainly, it seems like these people are trustworthy. Especially considering how the boy tried to warn me about those metallic beings. It is decided, then. I am a Florescence. If necessary, I can always just seize back the head of the Esh by force. I doubt that anybody here is skilled enough to overpower me. So, I hand it over to them.

The black-haired man accepts it and passes it over to the other, bulkier man. He then ushers me to a side room, pulling out a chair and waves at the table. “Z…e,” he says, and I take a seat.

A platter of foodstuffs is brought over to me. An array of plates filled with meat is strewn onto the orange wooden tabletop. My eyes glaze over the red meats, with their bones still attached in the center, roasted until their edges are flaked black. There is a drink too. Some kind of alcohol with a golden tint. Snow-like effervescence foams up to the mouth of the glass mug, almost spilling from the brim like an overflowing well.

I flutter my eyes, and for a moment, the world changes color. I see no discoloration within the food and drink. Blinking, my vision returns to normal and I gratefully welcome the meal. Once I am fully nourished, I lean back against the chair’s backrest, hands lying on my lap as I meditate while patiently waiting for… something.

After a half cycle passes, the two return with the head under the bulkier man’s arms. He plops it on the table and holds out a strange object. It looks like an earring, except it does not have a gem attached to the pin. Instead, there is a dark-gray box made of an almost grainy substance.

The bulkier man carefully approaches me, gesturing at my ear and at the object. I nod curtly and he attaches it safely onto my earlobe, and he presses at the earring. Nothing happens. At least, not immediately.

A light buzz sound begins to fill my ear as the pair share a few words. The man with the sword has a look of concern on his face, but the bulkier man reassures him.

“E...x.”

“Are…z? Howz…x...a?”

“Becaussse Ix configuredddd… zmyself!” The bulkier man thumped his chest, sporting a wide grin on his face.

I frown as the man with the sword sighs. “That does not instill much confidence in me, Beihal.”

“You’ll see, Kalmat,” Beihal speaks with absolute confidence in his voice. He glances over to me and points. “Look, I think it’s already working.”

There is a slight delay between when their lips move and the words register in my head at first. I thought I was caught in some kind of an illusion, but I realize now that this is reality. The voices and the movement of their mouths synchronize.

The man with the sword, Kalmat, faces me with a soft gaze. “Are you alright? Can you understand us?”

“W-what?” I ask, dumbfounded. And—

I wince. My ears strain. I instinctively reach a hand up to clasp at it, but a deep breath helps me recover.

“Try talking slowly,” Beihal says and holds up a hand.

“Slo-wly?” The words leave my mouth in a stutter. There is some feedback loop. A kind of reverb that repeats itself to me. “What… is this?”

“We pried it out of the Esh.” Kalmat steps up, eyeing the metallic head resting on the table. “It’s a universal translator,” he explains. “That’s how they communicate with us.”

I grit my teeth, preparing for the slight stinging feeling before I speak. “Comm-unicate?” The pain is no longer as harsh. I stretch my lips and continue. “The Esh? I’m sorry, but I do not quite understand. Why must they use a universal translator to speak with you?”

They trade looks. Kalmat raises a brow. “The Esh do not speak our language. Nor do they yours. Oh, and I’m Kalmat.” He smiles and proffers a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet someone from the Frosty Mountains.”

I stare at it and say, “I surmised as much.” Wrinkling a brow, I fix him with an inquisitive look. My puzzlement is evident. “My name is Tian, and I do not come from these ‘Frosty Mountains’.”

“That’s odd, Seiled said… and that pale skin...” He trails off, a hand resting on his chin. “Never mind that, we’re still glad to have you here, Tian. Anyone who is an enemy of Galgom is a friend to us.”

“Enemy of… Galgom?”

“That’s right!” Beihal pipes up from the side. He places a hand on Kalmat’s shoulder and shoots me a thumbs-up. “We heard about what you did! Seiled could not shut up about it. You took out two of the En with a single kick! And if I didn’t see you carrying that Esh’s head, I wouldn’t have believed it!”

I blink, not fully comprehending him. I can infer a few things— the first being who this Seiled is. I assume it is the rosy-cheeked boy who led me here. The second being the name of those machines that were pursuing us. The En. Weaker than the Esh, but still strong enough that they consider it noteworthy. Interesting.

“Indeed,” Kalmat agrees. “You are strong, yet they are too numerous. We can shelter you for as long as you wish. However, I feel obligated to extend an invitation to you.” He drags a chair across from me and sits on it the wrong way. Leaning his elbows on its top rail, he fixes me with an eager look. “Our resistance group is small. I am the only Bladewielder here, but we’re strong. However, I cannot deny that we might need a helping hand for what is to come next. I’m sure you want to end Galgom’s reign as much as the rest of us, so what do you say?”

Hesitating, I meet his gaze of determination. And I realize... there is a misunderstanding here. I am not sure what is going on, however they have completely misjudged me. I do not know what kind of story the boy, Seiled, told them. All I know is that there are two things I can do here.

Either I can pretend to be who they think I am: act like I actually do hail from the Frosty Mountains, use that foreign status as an excuse to make odd inquiries, and make observations to piece together what is going on here; feign reticence, hide my true identity and background, suppress use of my powers as I gather information to possibly help me find a way back to Jhisie.

Or, I can just tell the truth.

“It seems you misunderstand. I do not know who this Galgom is, nor do I know why you are fighting him. In fact, I do not know any of the events currently afflicting this world. Because I come from another world.”