The pyre for Ralfen burnt high in the clearing, amongst the felled tree trunks behind the cabin. There had been no shortage of firewood chopped for the coming winter. All diligently prepared by the man that now utilised them.

Keya once again chanted the rote prayer to the gods, clearly and proudly. Grandpa deserved more, far more than she could give. Her tears did not flow this time. She had given all she had left already. This inadequacy tormented her. She had cried for herself and raged for herself. What emotions were left to send Grandpa off to meet the gods: none.

When the boys had dragged Grandpa from her home, something inside her broke, and she had reached out instinctually. Her mind travelled through the ground, and she found far more purchase than ever before. She felt the surface of the hardened hill beneath Gillian’s footfalls, and she found the earthen crack just beneath and ahead of him.

Grandpa had instructed her to smooth it over. It took weeks of toil to get the barest of shifts in the soil. With time the gouge in the earth had slimmed and finally closed with her efforts. It would reappear from time to time, and she would extend and mend her work once more.

That work was ripped asunder in seconds as Gillian’s leg reached the mark, pulling the sand bridge apart exposing the earthen tear below. After which, she swiftly slid and secured the soil around his limb. She impotently tried to crush the leg as well.

After which, Jon’s antics finally pulled her from her blind rage, and she rushed to Ralfen. Little else mattered after that.

The whimsical cruelty of his sentencing gave her brief catharsis, although that soon faded along with the rest of her emotions. Presently, she stood in front of a blaze consuming her only family member, trying desperately to feel something—anything—besides emptiness.

“It’s a much better fire this time around.” Jonathan was as inept as she felt with these situations.

“When you’re done, I’ll be inside.” He retreated to the cabin.

Not until the pyre was mostly red hot coals, did she relinquish her gaze. All the while, not another tear was spilt.

Back in the cabin, the rickety table and chairs were set straight, while the door still stood ajar on splintered hinges. Jon was seated, drinking from a mug. Across from him and in front of the only other unoccupied seat was food and drink laid out for her. On one of her wooden plates were nuts and jerky, and a cask of water. She sat down opposite him in silence, and although not at all hungry, she sampled the food as a perfunctory gesture.

Her drink was graciously refilled from a flask without comment. The water was pure, and the nuts and meat were of a quality she could scarcely believe possible. It was the same as their prior two meals, but she only spare appreciation of it now.

Keya's mind aimlessly floated untethered, all secure moorings in the span of a mere day were ripped and torn from their anchors. Nothing felt certain or assuring anymore, equally there was nothing left to be threatened. Terrifying and liberating all at once, meagre recriminations and aspirations of her former self appeared starkly petty, vague, and distant. Ghostly silhouettes she could scarcely identify through the mists of apathy.

By contrast, the world around her felt crisp and refined to the senses. Smells and sounds in the dingy single room house were acute. The floor planks revealed fine grains in the afternoon light, and she absorbed it all as if for the very first time.

Gazing off to the semi-partitioned beds, she recalled countless days shared with Grandpa since she was small. This was her world, where she had spent most of her life. The books she had gleaned knowledge from were on a rickety old shelf to the side, and the humble hearth where she had cooked and warmed herself stood cold, dark, and dreary in a corner.

“Is that Ralfen’s bed?” Jonathan asked when she had just about finished eating.

“Why, yes it is. How did you know?” said Keya.

“50/50 odds are pretty good. Aside from that, there’s a stash under one of the planks. Did you know about it?” Replied Jon.

“Really? Which one?”

“The warped and discoloured wood.” He pointed to a plank that on further inspection was loose.

Amazed, she retrieved an aged leather pouch underneath it. “How did you-”

“Magic, let’s just go with fucking magic for now.”

“Very well ‘mage’.” She gave him an incredulous look. Returning to the table, she opened it. Inside the pouch was a yellowed piece of parchment and an unadorned leather-bound book. She unrolled the scroll revealing a letter in elegantly flourishing Elven script.

‘To our dearest Keya,

‘Please know that your mother and father love you very much, and we would not have sent you off with your grandfather, Ralfen, were there no other path. A chance at peace and happiness somewhere far away is the best we can offer you now. Our bloodline is both a gift and a curse. Perhaps one day you can find it in your heart to forgive us our weakness. We could not stay by you and protect you, and it will weigh upon our spirits for all eternity. Keep the book safe, and when you are ready, it will reveal itself to you.

‘Eternal love,

'Aywin & Kali Ces’

Paging through the book, it was simply blank. Keya shook her head.

“Can I see the note?”

Hesitating at first, she passed it.

“Autotranslate identifies this as Old Roman cursive, a slight derivative of Latin. Elven, huh? No point in reinventing the wheel I guess. You can read it, right?” Asked Jon.

“Of course, I could read and speak my mother tongue long before I learnt Common. The message, however, is no less cryptic.” Composing herself, she was about to explain when he interrupted.

“If Evy’s translation is right, then this is a MacGuffin.”

“Who is this Evy you keep alluding to? Another spirit you commune with?” There certainly was no one else about. Earlier, she too had heard the voice of vengeful spirit ‘Li’. She gave a silent prayer of gratitude for his guidance in meting out justice. Of the little she understood from the spirit’s pronouncements, she was convinced it guided Jon’s hand to some degree.

“Sure, another spirit, why not,” said Jon.

Keya replied. “That mistress Evy could read Elven is commendable. Is she perhaps a spirit of the Fair Folk?”

Jon gave a blank stare.

She continued. “Regardless, the missive made no mention of this ‘Mag-A-Fin’ you assert.”

Pulling out more jerky, he lent back and chomped. “It’s a plot device, a thing that moves the story forward. Or, in words you’ll understand: This clue about your bloodline gives you a direction to explore, and also a goal. My supposition: Ralfen would’ve had last words for you. In the original telling of this story, he’d have revealed the cache. I’m sorry about that.”

“You repeatedly speak of this world as a tale written by some gods gone awry. Your crazed ramblings make little more sense beyond that. Explain.” If there were any sane explanations to be had, she would know them. Gods be damned, I will know.

“Well then Kay, I guess it’s time.” Briefly putting up a hand to make her wait, he bent down and rummaged around in his pack. Returning, he brought two closed fists forward, only to withdrawal them seconds later, mumbling: “Sunglasses, sunglasses where did I put them?” He returned to his sack. “What? C’mon, Lee! Y-” He sat up looking at the air, again. Does he not realise how crazed he seems? “Alright. Fine! You have a point!” Clenched fists returned above the table, his expression dejected.

Grunting to clear his voice, he began. “I imagine that right now you’re feeling a bit confused. Tumbling through events and disoriented.”

“I have said as much,” said Keya.

“And I can see it in your eyes. You have the look of a woman who accepts what she sees because she is expecting to wake up. This may not be far from the truth. Do you believe in fate?”

“Yes, no… I’m not sure anymore.”

“Umm, Really? Why?”

“Grandpa’s books and stories, speak of the gods gently guiding our lives; however, after recent events…”

“Right! I know exactly what you mean.” He leaned forward. “Let me tell you why you’re here.”

“Surely, why you are here is more important.” She asked.

“Actually, that’s not far off, but I’m speaking more figuratively. Why you’re here is because you were meant to be something. This world was meant to be something. Whatever that was, we may never fully know, but you would have been a slave to it. Like everyone else here, you were born into a prison that you could not smell, taste, or touch.” Quieter. “You may also have been happy...

“Now, there are no guarantees, not for you or this world.” His expression was briefly sombre. “But what you have in return is a choice, one I never had,” said Jon.

He opened his hands to reveal two smooth polished ovoid gems, one blue and one red. “This is your chance; you take the blue pill, and the story ends; I disappear, and you believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, and I show you just how big this world truly is.”

Keya asked. “These ‘pills’, what are they?”

“They’re medicinal concoctions, you swallow one.” He replied.

“Surely, I can stay, and you can leave of your own accord. What need is there of such mystical remedies?”

Jon placed both ‘pills’ on the table and palmed his face in both hands. “Saint Picard, give me strength. Lee, I should have worn the sunglasses; no one backchats the sunglasses.” Sighing and looking up. “They will prepare your mind for the path you take. The blue pill will allow you to move on from the tragedy of recent events. And should you come with me, the red pill will strengthen your resolve for the wonders and horrors you will undoubtedly face.

“But what they do is not as important as the choice you make. We write our own stories now. Make your call.” He leaned back on the chair, hands behind his head.

Keya stared at the man as if trying to pierce his soul. This strange individual was very likely a seer, the likes of which she had read about in heroic tales of old. As a child, she wished to be whisked off by such characters into a world of adventure. Since then, life had taught her of its harsher realities. Such dreams inevitably faded. Now as if to mock her this crazed idiot s-

“You’re internally monologuing aren’t ya.”

She swiped the red pill with little fanfare and swallowed it.

“Lekker.” A wide smile spread across Jon’s face; standing, he outstretched his hand towards her and held it there.

Quirking an eyebrow, she stared at it.

“It’s a greeting from my world, just grab my hand and shake.”

Sheepishly she did so, it was a firm but uncalloused grip.

“Welcome to the Dive Core recruit!”