Arcturus awoke to the sound of voices, eyes opening slowly to stare at the plain, white-painted ceiling above him. A moment of grogginess had him blinking to dispel the lingering effects of weariness, before he felt his ears twitch slightly, as if automatically adjusting to better hear the voices exchanging tense words from somewhere nearby. His body felt… good. Stronger. He felt as if he had greater density and solidity to his frame, and as if each step and movement were more efficient. When he looked around the room, he noticed his vision had improved noticeably, enough so that he could make out granular details that would have escaped him earlier. He smiled to himself as he realised it, carefully pulling off the sheets covering his body and rising to a sitting position, feet on the floor.

While he slept, someone had changed him out of his old clothes and put him in clean ones, dressing him in a pair of comfortable black sleeping shorts and a simple white tee. He flexed his fingers as he sat up and enjoyed the strength and flexibility he felt within them, ears focusing better on the voices he could now more clearly discern as Angela, and… Jakob? Yes, that was the name he’d heard attributed to the frustrated male voice currently engaged with the stubborn shopkeeper he’d befriended.

Perception Check successful!

A cursory glance around the interior confirmed that he was still under her roof, noting the same archways leading to different rooms, and the various tools and trinkets mixed in with clothes and various other paraphernalia. As far as he could tell he was inside of a spare bedroom, one that had been used for storage as much as accommodation. The area appeared no more than 4 metres long by 3 metres wide, and was cramped with piled crates and various models of discarded aether rifles that Arcturus simply assumed had failed to recapture Angela’s interest.

His examination of the room revealed a small door in front of his bed and to the left, open to reveal what he assumed was a bathroom. Arcturus glanced to his right at the archway leading out into the main area of the surprisingly spacious residence Angela owned, before picking the bathroom instead. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been asleep, but his bladder was subtly yelling at him for relief and he had a feeling that he likely smelled less than appealing, in spite of his own inability to catch a scent from himself.

When he entered the bathroom, he was surprised to see how similar it was to what he was used to. His immediate thought had been something far more primitive, and yet if anything it appeared more advanced. The first thing he noticed was the mirror stretching most of the length of the white-painted wall, showing his reflection – what he knew to be his new and permanent face – in its clear surface. At the far right end of the bathroom, the shower was equipped with what appeared to be several showerheads mounted on the three walls it was built into – with the glass door allowing entrance naturally lacking one. The sink immediately to his right, before he shower and toilet, was a simple white porcelain, with a red crystal and blue crystal where Arcturus would look for the hot and cold taps on Earth.

The toilet itself was a largely similar design to what he was used to, except there was no clear button to flush it, which momentarily confused him until he moved towards it and spotted to white crystal mounted onto the side of the toilet that had been hidden from his view. “Nothing left but to go for it.” He said to himself dubiously.

Intellect Check successful!

Once he was done he closed the lid, washing his hands quickly in the sink – the crystals turned out to be pressure sensitive, regarding the water temperature – and then tapping the clear crystal on the side of the toilet to flush it. Instead of the rush of water, however, all he heard was a faint sound of pressure and a pop. For a moment he stared at the toilet, before shaking his head and instead turning to the shower. “Damn it, where would the towels be…?”

No sooner had he said it than a slot in the wall, where he had assumed there would be nothing more than more wall, pushed itself out with a shimmer of blue light around a suddenly protruding drawer. Within were two sections separated by a simple divider. One held white towels, and the other appeared to be an empty slot for clothes. Bewildered and delighted in equal measure, Arcturus took one of the offered towels and felt the material, marvelling at both the thickness and softness of the fabric.

Intellect Check successful!

Perception Check successful!

Insight Gained: Terran Technology! Your intelligence and keen perception have allowed you to form a rudimentary understanding of Terran technology, and its apparent basis in Aetherial manipulation. Unlike your home, technology on Terra appears to be entirely based on a marriage of science and magic! While the exact nature of its design eludes your ability to discern, it’s nonetheless apparent that this world is far more advanced in some respects than you ever thought possible!

Nodding his head as the prompt entered his mind, he smiled as he realised that perhaps the wonders of Terra could be worth exploring. The possibilities of aether-based technology were vast, and filled his mind as he hung the towel up on a rack beside the shower, removed his clothes and put them into the waiting slot of the drawer, then stepped inside the shower as the drawer slid closed.

At first he was once again confused, until a calm voice spoke to him within the shower. “Good morning, resident. Please state your desire.”

Arcturus spun and swore, staring out at the door of the bathroom as his heart hammered, searching for the source of the voice. After a moment, he realised that he would have heard someone approach, and slowly turned back to look at the interior of shower. If the technology he’d seen earlier with the towel drawer was any indication, it very well could have been some sort of strange program that spoke to him. Feeling more than little silly, he nonetheless spoke to thin air. “I’d like a hot shower, ah, please. To clean myself off.”

“Acknowledged. Please enjoy your ablutions.” The voice replied, before Arcturus was abruptly met by three streams of water, and the distinct scent of something reminiscent of lavender and coconut as the water rolled over his skin, bubbling with soap suds as something mixed in to the liquid was catalysed into a cleaning reaction. He reached up instinctively to clear his face of the suds, and experimentally ran his hands through his hair, surprised at how easily he felt the strands parting for his fingers. It occurred to him he had not truly felt his hair since arriving on Terra, and the natural silkiness left him feeling awed and stunned in equal measure.

The shower was a good opportunity for him to consider what he would do next. First things first would be speaking to Angela, and finally confronting whether or not he still had someone to call a friend in the confusing immensity of his new reality. From there it would be a trip, at last, to the library and the Cathedral that Lilian had directed him towards. He had initiated his transit to Terra to find his friends, and Amélie had been his focus in the immediate. He had finally gotten the girl, and he would be damned if she’d escape him so easily – especially if she had similarly been transported to the mad reality he had resigned himself to being a part of, at least for the immediate future. From there it was a matter of finding a way to go home, and whatever journey was required to realise that goal.

Arcturus realised a few minutes later that the shower had stopped pushing out the cleaning substances, and was instead washing him with pure water, before it abruptly tapered off and ceased entirely – all three showerheads ending their flow in tandem. “Have a wonderful day, resident.” The voice chimed once again, which Arcturus took as his signal to get out of the shower. He opened the glass door and grabbed his towel, quickly drying himself off and attacking his hair with the fabric, squinting his eyes against the ferocious back and forth motion of his hands through the towel, before lowering it to wrap around his waist.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair and shook it, glancing at himself in the mirror as he walked towards the bedroom again. His hair looked both darker and brighter in equal measure with the glistening remnants of his shower sticking to it, throwing his share of platinum strands into sharp belief against the equal number of black mixed into them. His eyes were as intense and bright as he’d ever seen them, with the vivid crimson still taking him aback. His skin was clear and unblemished, naturally a sun-kissed shade of olive, and his muscles appeared notably more clearly defined. His stomach consisted of four pairs of abdominal muscles, with a faint divot down the middle of them. His pectorals were solid, and his biceps were more pronounced than he ever remembered seeing them.

“Shit, I look like the Terminator.” He muttered to himself, staring at the generous but not egregious amount of muscle. He was definitely solid, but thankfully lacked the disgusting level of over-developed muscle many fanatic bodybuilders often showed. The best turn of phrase would be ‘shredded’, if he had to put it in an Earth term. It seemed strangely unfair that he had achieved the state through the arbitrary use of what almost amounted to hacking the universe itself, but he wasn’t about to complain about the new strength or agility he could feel coursing through his veins. The strangest thing was that his body hair had drastically reduced in presence, with only a light smattering of it on his chest, arms, legs, and stomach, and only the faint beginnings of shadow on his jaw, though it was thankfully evenly spread.

“Might not be worth growing for a while,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his chin and once again feeling amazed at how sensitive his sense of touch was, both feeling each individual strand of stubble and feeling his fingertips brushing along his flesh. Another shake of the head and he looked down to the sink, realising he had no means of brushing his teeth or rinsing his mouth. He’d used hot water in the shower, but the lack of ability to properly address his dental hygiene would bother him. He’d have to ask Angela, after he was dressed.

Which was when he went back into the bedroom, and realised nobody had thought to leave a clean change of clothes for him. Arcturus’ eyes widened and he half-turned back to the bathroom, only to realise that his old clothes would only mitigate the entire cleaning process he only a moment earlier concluded. “You’ve got to be joking.” He muttered to himself, looking around the room for some sort of clue as to where clothes might be hiding, only to grow more concerned at realising there was absolutely nothing to wear. The towel was the best he was going to do, since the blanket would similarly only serve to render his shower moot until the sheets were changed.

What, are you shy?

Arcturus grunted at the recriminating voice of his subconscious as it taunted him, and took a deep breath to calm the flutter of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Glancing at the archway to the room and taking note of the continued exchange of indiscernible words in what he now assumed to be the kitchen area he’d spotted previously; Arcturus undid and redid his towel. Tucking in the edge and gripping it with his left hand to make doubly sure it stayed, he glanced down at the placement. The towel was just below his knees at its bottom half, and just above the v-cut of his lower abdomen on top – limited in coverage by its unfortunate size. He suspected it had been designed for a shorter person than him, given Angela was the only person in the residence that he’d seen.

“Just go out and explain the situation, it’s not like it’s unreasonable. It’ll be fine.” He muttered the words to himself as he strode with purpose of the bedroom, crossing into an attached living area complete with what appeared to be a television, coffee table, rug, and lounges before crossing it and stepping through another archway into what he knew to be the kitchen. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Angela, but I can’t seem to find my…”

Perception Check unsuccessful!

He trailed off and froze as he felt a flush creep into his cheeks immediately, with no less than five pairs of eyes fixed on him. Angela was the first person he noticed fully, sitting at the head of a rectangular table that could seat six, her chair facing the wall to the left of the archway through which he’d entered from. She was wearing a simple white shirt, and a pair of green breeches that matched her eyes, with her long brown hair tied up into an efficient bun. A look of deep amusement was spread across her features as she spotted him, and she appeared to be about to laugh.

The other three occupants he knew by face if not by name. Jakob was seated in the chair next to Angela facing towards Arcturus, though he’d foregone the armour in favour of a simple white shirt under his jacket, a pair of combat fatigues for pants, and no weapons in sight. In the next chair along sat the woman he’d knocked out, now absent her scanning lens, armour, or anything else she’d worn – and instead dressed in a simple blue tank top and leggings, with her dark hair in a ponytail and a pair of black travelling boots finishing her ensemble.

Wariness filled him immediately as he realised he was sharing a room with people whose companion he had recently killed, and he felt the beginnings of his telekinesis catalyzing.

His eyes moved next to the pixie-cut girl with the blue hair, leaning against a counter behind Jakob and the ponytailed woman. Her arms were crossed over a black shirt, and she wore a pair of fashionably ripped dark jeans, tucked into another pair of black travelling boots with endless laces. Her piercings were on full display as before, and she appeared to be chewing bubblegum of all things. Had it not been for the sheer mortification he felt in the moment, he might have laughed at how strangely normal she looked to him. In fact, he detected – now that he could actually look at her properly – clear Asian origins to her features. It explained her petite build, if nothing else.

The final person in the room, however, was a complete stranger. She had piercing golden eyes, and red hair down to her upper back, meticulously bound into an elegant ponytail that seemed both formal and functional in equal measure. When he looked at her, in fact, she seemed to stiffen – and the smattering of freckles on her cheekbones went into stark relief as she paled slightly. Her attire was as unique as her eyes, with a cream-coloured ruffled ascot blouse under a royal red overcoat – trimmed in silver along its edges – complete two tails on the back. Her leggings matched her coat, with a pair of black knee-high heeled leather boots laced up to their tops completing the look. Around her neck was a silver chain attached to a round medallion of the same colour, inlaid with a beautiful emerald at its centre.

His eyes went down to her hips, where a dark arming belt around her waist held an elegant silver sword-hilt embossed with patterns and designs that seemed to resemble elegant strands of ivy. What was more, he could have sworn they were composed of paint with crushed emeralds inside of it, lending a faint shimmer and bourgeois elegance to the strange, bladeless hilt. The crossguard was in a style Arcturus recognised, reminiscent of the longswords popularised in medieval Europe on Earth. Driven by curiosity, his eyes zeroed in on the fact that the crossguard itself ended in two wolf heads – each head gifted with shining topaz jewels for their eyes.

Perception Check unsuccessful!

“Hello? Arcturus?” He blinked when he heard his name and turned to look at Angela, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “I asked how you’re feeling.” Angela continued, blue eyes both amused and mildly concerned as they focussed on him.

“Oh.” He responded with a suddenly dry mouth, looking between the three people he still assumed to be enemies, and the intimidatingly pretty new addition. “Yeah, I had a shower and that helped me wake up, though I couldn’t find anything to clean my mouth with.” He glanced at the others, all of whom were looking at him now with a quiet sense of what Arcturus could only describe as grim resignation. “So. What are they doing here?" He asked perhaps more harshly than he intended.

Charisma Check unsuccessful!

“You have some fucking nerve...” Jakob said back to him, drawing Arcturus’ eyes as he started to rise. “First you kill Geran for no reason, and now you're going to stand there and act as if—” The man cut off abruptly as Angela placed a hand placatingly on the grizzled fighter's forearm, and shot him a warning look. Jakob's expression hardened for a moment, and then he slammed back down into his chair with a growl. Nobody else at the table said anything, but the tension was clear.

“Arcturus.” Angela interrupted as he stared at the older man, drawing his eyes from Jakob’s and back to her own. “Why are you in a towel?”

Arcturus blinked at her, and then felt himself turn bright red all over again, tightening his grip on the towel’s knot and battling back the surge of immediate anxiety that followed Angela’s question. “Well, I went to have a shower and I put my clothes in the drawer, but then I realised that they were dirty so I couldn’t wear them, and all I had was the towel so I came out here to find you to ask if my other clothes were okay to wear.” He took a breath when he finished, crushing down the childish feelings of embarrassment. There was no room for that when a fight could break out at any moment.

Your smoothness never ceases to amaze.

Angela laughed in delight, and even Jakob and his companions seemed to relax some, with the blue-haired ‘goth’ girl flashing him a considering look when his eyes flitted towards her. Only the redhead seemed to be the exception, her fingers white with pressure as she gripped her biceps, arms crossed under her generous bust. “Oh don’t mind her, Arcturus.” Angela said when she noticed his gaze, drawing his eyes away from the stony-faced woman and back to the shopkeeper. “She’s just moody because she thinks you’re an imposter.

“Of COURSE he is!” The redhead exploded suddenly, unfolding her arms and pointing accusingly at Arcturus. “This is impossible, Alyerial! Impossible! Titus died twenty-three years ago! How could this child possibly be him?”

“I told you to call me Angela, Tylariel!” The weapons maker said, glaring at the redhead.

“As for the rest, who are these baseborn anyway? Why are they here? You said they were your ‘acquaintances’, yet they evidently have issues with the boy — and they seem to be here under clear sufferance! What game are you playing, Alyerial?”

Arcturus expected to see Jakob and the others rounding on the redhead, given what he assumed was some sort of insult in the use of ‘baseborn’, yet it was quite the opposite reaction. Jakob had a blank face as he looked between the two arguing women, and his two female companions seemed to try to shrink out of sight, with both of them very carefully looking towards whatever was immediately in front and beneath them, be it the table or the floor.

“I’m not playing any games, Tylariel. I asked you here for your help, not to throw insults at—!”

“Yes, I seem to recall your mad request!” The redhead interrupted again, throwing her arms up. “You think he’s Titus back from the dead, and you want me to train him as an Archon! Preposterous. Absurd!”

“You can deny it all you want, but look at him! He’s picture perfect. He even has the exact same jawline, for heavens’ sake! Anyone who’s seen Titus in person would recognise this kid as him. He may be slightly sharper in the cheekbones, and a little taller, but it’s definitely him!”

Intellect Check successful!

Perception Check successful!

Something seemed to click for Arcturus when she said that, remembering something one of his father’s old military colleagues had said about him being a taller, more finely-featured version of Arcturus Senior. He’d only been young when it had happened, around fourteen years old, but he remembered his father’s look of fierce pride when he’d accepted the words. He remembered the older man placing his hand on his young shoulder, and feeling safe at how strong, and warm his father’s grip was. He had always believed his father had been a secret superhero, when he’d been younger. What if the truth was something similar but different? Was it really so far-fetched? Nothing seemed to be, not any longer.

“My father.” Arcturus said calmly, cutting through Angela and Tylariel’s argument instantly. “You’re talking about my father.”

“Your father?” Angela asked, blinking.

“Yes. My father. Arcturus Titus Valoura.”

The entire room went silent in the aftermath of his words, with all five pairs of eyes fixed on him intently. It was as if his words had opened the vault to some hidden mystery, for even Tylariel suddenly looked more thoughtful than belligerent, though she had not lost her stubborn frown. Angela’s expression was more understanding, and her features softened as she regarded him, new awareness creeping into her eyes as she processed the information.

Jakob and his companions, for their part, looked stunned; sharing glances between themselves with expressions of clear concern. In fact, it almost seemed as if his revelation had retroactively slotted some pieces they’d been missing into place, for the three of them appeared to be coming to some mutual realisation that caused them all to look suddenly much more nervous.

“What are your names?” Arcturus asked impulsively, looking between the three of them. “I know he's Jakob. I heard his name used. I’d prefer to stop thinking of you as the random women who tried to kill me, though, and actually put names to your faces.”

“Sumeko.” The blue-haired Asian girl responded after a half-second of consideration. “Call me Sumeko.” She hesitated only slightly as she said it, her brown eyes locked on him as if measuring him up.

“Jess.” The brunette replied, her smile clearly forced as she answered. “I’m Jess. Nice to meet you, ah, Your Highness.”

“Nice to m— Wait, what?” Arcturus asked with a narrowing of his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

Perception Check unsuccessful!

“Oh no.” Jakob said, falling back against his chair with a hoarse laugh. “Oh this is just perfect. He has no idea. We're going to die for treason and he has no clue why.”

“No one is dying for treason.” Angela said curtly, before turning back to Arcturus. “Arcturus?” He turned to Angela in turn as she spoke. “What’s your full name?”

Arcturus opened his mouth to answer, then paused. He had almost repeated his first and last name once again, but caught himself. His habit had been to ignore that he did have a middle name, for most of his life, because it sounded ludicrous. “Arcturus Regis Valoura.”

Angela’s smile was almost sad when he said it. “Regis. That’s your core name?”

“Yes.” He said with another wary glance at Jakob and his companions. “My father gave it to me. I just thought it was embarrassing, so I never use it.”

“It’s not possible.” Tylariel said in a much quieter voice, now gripping her biceps even more tightly. “It’s just not possible. It can’t be.”

“Just because you wish it not to be true, sister, doesn’t mean it isn’t. Fate is not always kind or clear. You’ve heard him speak, and I know you can tell whether or not he’s lying.”

“It can’t be true. He must have been deceived, or—!”

“Tylariel.” Angela cut in sharply. “Look at him. Look at his eyes, his hair. You knew Titus! Feel his potency, for heavens’ sake! You know it’s true. You know what he is, who he is.”

Arcturus frowned at them. He wasn’t utterly ignorant, he knew they were acting as if he was some sort of important person to their world, and given he now suspected his father had travelled from Terra to Earth at some point in the past, he also knew that they had very good reason to make that assumption. The revelation that offered in regard to his ability to return home was definitely a positive, as well, though the fact they’d thought his father had died likely meant finding out how he did it would be… troublesome.

Of course, none of that changed the fact that he had no desire of being anyone important. From everything he’d heard about the world, important people on Terra — especially the Empire — tended to end up dead more often than the unimportant ones. He’d take a simple existence over any kind of fame or responsibility, thank you very much.

“I’m going to regret asking this,” he said with a sigh. “But can we skip the theatrics and boil it down to what the fuck is going on?”

The table's occupants — excluding Tylariel, who continued to glare at him — glanced among themselves as he asked the question, before four sets of eyes turned to regard Tylariel, as if it was her duty to enlighten him, in spite of her evident disdain. Arcturus would have preferred it be Angela, but if it meant answers, he truthfully couldn’t have cared less about the source.

“If what you’ve said is true, and it isn’t an elaborate lie or some sort of massive delusion...” Tylariel began, her voice tight with dislike for what she seemed to be about to reveal. “Then the only real answer is that you are not just an untrained Archon, or a lordling. You are, in the absence of your alleged father, the heir-apparent of a dynasty that helped found the very Empire we serve.”

“Okay...?”

Tylariel scowled at him, but continued after a quiet murmur of encouragement from Angela. “You're a Prince. Specifically, the Prince of the Valarian Kingdom. This Kingdom, and the Imperial Dominion it rules.” Her mouth twisted in distaste as Arcturus’ eyes narrowed.

“Put simply, Arcturus…” Angela said with a look of consideration. “You’re our future King.”