Again, the air at this altitude should be cooler. Either this universe is wierd or I have changed magically. I haven’t even reviewed what has happened to me due to our escape by teleportation and ritual. And I should actually check my companions. But I don’t want to. I intend to, but I really don’t wish to do so. In fact I wish to do nothing. I has become too much.

I should not let that ruin a flight with a grand view, even if its purpose is utilitarian rather than pleasure. When was the last day I had spent a day on pleasure? The day on the beach? It isn’t that long past. Two weeks? That raises another troubling question. How much time has passed during our escape? Does that question even make sense? I am not going to drive myself mad by sitting down and drawing hypothetical light cones for interuniversal travel.

I’d rather think of something else. For example that the lake has not been created with an explosion. There is no crater wall. It really looks like somebody just removed the material. A bit like [Wrath of the Magister] can do, but the walls should have crumbled under their own weight. Even if you repeated the process multiple times, big rocks on the edge should not appear like cleaved cleanly through at their current position. A transformation zone?

That is the most horrible explanation for the Fermi Paradoxon. Intelligence somehow creates a monster apocalypse and civilization is thereby flung into a worsening cycle of endless wars against an enemy that cannot be defeated. I want the prize for the most gloomy thought of the month.

Nevertheless this area is beautiful in the terrible, as opposed to lush, sense. The beauty of a pouncing leopard, rather than a smiling kitten. It is fairly flat, but wadis are deeply cut into the landscape. And occasionally I see a boulder or a mesa jutting out of the ground in the distance. The air is incredibly clear. Or my raised attributes are doing something magical to my eyesight already. Neither is it barren. I see plenty of exposed brown and predominantly red ground, but there are as many patches and rings of gras, as well as a sparse population of trees. If they have enough monsters for a regular supply of spirit coins, I could survive out here. But it would be a miserable life. And, more importantly, the children cannot. Even a humble vegetable garden is not a viable option. At the lake shore it would be, but the people living there don’t like me.

No, contacting the people our guests are associated with is the most promising path.

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Derrick Stelline, temporary commander of fortress town H27-D by virtue of a contract to prevent the bandits around Sky Scar Lake from taking over fortress towns, is unhappily observing a dead heidel.

DS: Of course we cannot ride a dead heidel. That much is obvious. That is why we took a spare heidel with us. I get that this is costly. But we can’t change it now. Just give the other heidels potions. We need these damn animals, unless you want to walk back home.

His defensive specialist Edgar Simonis, whose storage power allows him to hold the teams supplies, including potions, shakes his head so hard that his metallic golden hair escapes from the bandana he is wearing.

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ES: Potions made for people are poisonous to heidels. And this animal died of a disease. Look at the scales.

DS: Shit. How long is the incubation period of this disease?

ES: I don’t know. I have no idea what this disease is. I am neither a veterinarian, nor a doctor.

DS: Have you given the people handling the heidels a potion?

ES: No, why … Shit. I’ll do it right away.

DS: After that call the team together. We have to start turning people away and keep the people already in here inside.

ES: I take this to mean that patrols are cancelled.

DS: Yes, they are.

ES: And then ask the headmen of these refugees contingents for the number of sick calls.

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Nevertheless, I am not going to just assume that they’ll be friendly. And I will wear my armour. And I’ll not go down in leisurely circles in their full view.

I see something that must be the site. Unless they are building remote forts in excessive numbers in this part of this world. I go into a tumbling dive like an acorn spinning down from its tree. Having mobile insect wings is better than what an aeroplane has. I can rival a helicopter in certain respects.

I am looking for a distinctive place. I want to retain this teleport location long time. And I am not going to depend on teleporting our people into that fort. In fact, do they have means of preventing or detecting teleportation?

This place where two wadis flow together and form a broader area is quite distinctive. The wedge of material between them has partially collapsed and forms a ramp. I will hike that up and memorize that place as well. I don’t want to take the risk of having to teleport into a potentially flooded valley. Wadis exist for a watery reason.

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I am observing the fort. The gate is closed and presumably locked. I can see no people on the walls. But it must be occupied. They are flying a black flag with a yellow diamond inside. Quite pretty. But it won’t last in a pristine condition for long.

Now, you might ask who could close and bar a gate after departing. I could. I cannot be the only guy with access to telekinesis or flight in this land. Let me take a photo. I think Zora is chafing at being the weaker fighter and feeling a need to leave decisions to me. I will doubtlessly eventually fail to accomodate her. But perhaps I can delay the inevitable.

Now, I can crouch behind this bolder in an uncomfortable position for hours and learn nothing but perhaps the height of the walls from their shadows, or I can go and contact them. Or I can return to base and let our guests and the fort’s crew interact without precautions I could take.

I am trying to justify myself to myself.

I get up and hold my hands visibly up. I walk slowly towards the gate. A human (or elf – you cannot tell at that distance if they are wearing a helmet) exposes himself on the gatehouse. I stop. He shouts something I cannot understand and gesticulates at the flag pole. Does he wish to tell me that the fort has changed hands? Are we walking into some kind of war?

Is there a chance he has some kind of translation magic? „I am from a distant land and do not understand your language or know your flags.“. He shouts back. Either the power works only one way or, more plausibly, he just does not understand. He reaches to his side and displays a crossbow. My skill books have been useful. I do a cartwheel to the side, for a moment supporting myself with my upper arms, which allows me to keep observing the gatehouse and notice that he shoots at a ridiculous angle. He is likelier to hit his own foot than me that way. The quarrel thuds into the ground a bit short of half the distance between me and the gate. He lifts his arms to show me that he has put the weapon down. Then he points again very insistingly at the flag.

I am walking slowly backwards. I am not turning my back to them and I am not going to reveal to them that I have a teleport power.