It was sunny as Norman had finally been released. He could feel the ocean wind on his face when traveling back. His skin had healed nicely but needed some more time. It itched from the wet air, but Norman paid no mind. After picking him up, Deras did not speak much, letting him get off the ship first as he stayed to manage it.

Norman had conflicting feelings about getting back. He questioned if he should or would be allowed to stay by them. He could not tell if they would scold him or welcome him back. Norman would also think about what he had made Orel go through and if he could stay by him. Those feelings pressed on him as he started walking.

The fair winds rustled the trees as Norman walked on the path to the house. It seemed empty, as there were no lights to be seen from the window or much noise coming from inside. He knocked on the door, yet no one answered. Testing it, Norman unlocked the door and decided to step in hesitantly. It was surprisingly dark inside. Norman was about to call if anyone was home, but then he heard something. The light suddenly switched on, blinding him for a second.

“Welcome back, Norman!” Everyone cheered.

The whole house revealed their decorations for Norman, with everyone smiling widely from cheek to cheek. Ymir was smiling from her chair next to Tuja, and Andras fiddled with the champagne cork. Orel stood the closest, jumping from behind the door. A cake and other delicacies were ready to be served on the dinner table. Norman could not in any way have expected such a welcoming party.

“What’s all this?” Norman asked.

“It’s your homecoming party!” Orel smiled.

“You shouldn’t have bothered...”

Tuja walked forward from the others, passing Orel. It looked like she had something to say, but no one was sure what. They had not planned or at least didn’t expect her to have anything to say.

Norman felt a sense of danger; he thought she must have read the news and was about to lecture him for his money. He was ready to take all of the blame. It was his fault, after all. The only thing she could possibly compliment on was that they were alive, though having come so close to the opposite, that would probably not be anything to write home about.

Tuja watched down on Norman, who seemed already defeated.

“Do you have anything to say?”

“...I am sorry.”

She looked at him with great disdain, like a mouse stuck in a corner, ready to be devoured.

“You let my son get in danger that could have very well killed him,” Tuja said. “Do you understand?”

“...I know.”

“Didn’t you promise that you would keep him safe?”

“I did.”

“This can’t go on like this.”

“...”

“You need to take care of yourself.”

“What?” Norman made a face.

Tuja looked at Norman’s hands, still wrapped in bandages all over. They were in a much worse state than Orel had told, mostly because he didn’t dare to say to her how bad it was. It reminded her of a time she had to shield Orel from boiling water after he had knocked over it from the stove.

“You can’t protect him by taking it all by yourself. Weren’t you supposed to teach him to be better than that?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“No buts! Next time I want you all to come back well and sound, you hear me, Tobias Norman?”

Up from her crossed hands, Norman saw a slight smile on Tuja’s face. He could not bear to watch it for too long, deciding to comply with it with a warm smile.

“Of course.” Norman smiled, holding tears.

Suddenly, Ymir walked in between the two. “You’re such a mood-killer, Tuja. This was supposed to be a time of celebration!”

“Oh, right. Should we go for the cake?” Tuja turned.

“Or a toast?” Andras popped the bottle open.

“Perhaps a toast.” Norman agreed.

Tuja poured the bubbling yellow champagne into six glasses, one for each, yet one had to be left out for Deras, who hadn’t returned yet. Andras was slightly worried that Tuja would have poured it all already but was calmed after hearing that they would have more alcohol in Deras’ stash.

Everyone stood in a circle at the center of the house, holding their glasses ready. Even Ymir got on her feet for the occasion. All smiled for Norman, and he couldn’t do anything other than smile back at such caring people.

“For safe travels!” Norman raised his glass.

“And fair winds!” Others repeated.

After drinking some of the champagne, it was time to eat. Ymir and Tuja had made it together with the help of Orel, a chestnut mud cake with icing sugar on top. It was not a fancy recipe, but the sweet and robust chocolate flavor spoke for itself. They had prepared a batch of homemade butterscotch cookies and a salty salmon sandwich cake that made Andras’ mouth water. Deras had been brewing some mead from the start of the summer and was ready to be served. It was a small feast, meager for some but grand for such an occasion. Norman was overwhelmed by how much had been done for him. However, he didn’t want to ruin the event by bursting into tears.

“Where’s Deras? He would not miss a meal.” Orel noticed.

“He said he would need to check the mail, so he should be here soon,” Tuja said.

The sudden thumb of the door stopped the dining. Everyone turned to see that Deras had returned, holding a newspaper. What was peculiar was the surprised and flustered look on his face.

“Oh, Deras. Come. We still have some for you,” Tuja called him over.

“A letter arrived at the mail.” Deras snapped it from between the pages of the newspaper.

“From who?” Tuja asked.

“It’s from Emil,”

The family shared their curiosity. Norman was intrigued as well for how much he had heard of Orel’s mysterious father.

“Bring it here.” Tuja waved.

“So many different stamps...” Tuja looked at the cover.

She took a butter knife and opened the letter roughly. It was a long handwritten note that Tuja read without saying anything. Everyone waited for her, as the wife should read letters from her husband before anyone else.

“What does it say?” Orel asked.

“It’s pretty long, but it says it’s for all of us,” Tuja said.

“Then read it out loud,” Orel said.

“Could you squeeze in for me? I want to get a piece of that cake.” Deras shuffled to the other side of the table.

Once Deras was seated and eating whatever was left, Tuja read the note.

“Dear family, I’ve been searching for clues about the surname of Eislandr from Zabad that lead me to the southwest parts of the continent, the Sturgean desert. None know the name of Eislandr, but I’ve heard of a foreign traveler that had visited a famous sacred city in the middle of the desert a long time ago. Father was also a traveler, so he might have gone there as well. I’ll write my findings on this paper as I go and send them to you. If anyone finds this letter, please send it to my family, they are in the Gulf of Tanlen.

I was able to find volunteers and partners in my search, including explorers and scholars that share similar goals. Aston Moers and Martin Bamford have been the most excellent help, yet they do not get along well as they come from different colleges and argue all the time. I and others need to separate them as they constantly fight about the most absurd things, but we can’t afford to lose them. They are searching for the footprints of an explorer, but they can’t even decide what his name is. I think they fought like this:

“I’m telling you, Aston. It’s Jiy lai Shante!” Martin said.

“Ji-hai-se. A-lard. Get it right.”

“He’s not from Sur, you idiot.”

“No, he’s from Azuma.” Aston mocked.

“You waste of a Ph.D.!” Martin tried to strangle Aston.

“I already wiped my ass with yours!” Martin made a face.

I had to stop them, not that they could cause more than bruises and mental damage.

We were able to get permission to enter from the last city before the desert, as the local people used the city as a religious site and home.

We will need to hire some guides if we ever hope to cross that desert. Fortunately, and somewhat surprisingly, going across the desert is a popular tourist and traveling attraction. I only wish they are not expensive.

Well, they weren’t cheap, but at least we got them. I would not have tried crossing the desert without them in a hundred years.

My crew had to change from a car to some camediles, making our progress through the desert last for days. I had only heard of these creatures, but seeing them myself was fantastic. They can run with their long thin scaly legs for some speeds, but they must keep walking for now. The guides warned us about local animals but said that we must primarily be concerned about our survival from the forces of nature. I was not sure at first, but after seeing a ravaged remains of a similar expedition, I took their advice at heart.

These past few days have been exhaustingly hot, making one of us abandon the expedition. He was a young explorer, but he could not take the heat after our water had run out and tried to go back by himself during the night. The guides told us that many like him are found on their routes, most dead from dehydration. The guides said that we were not too far from a water source, but sadly he went the other way. I am sorry, but I needed to take off the lovely sweater you had knitted for me, Tuja, and use it as a turban. I’ll make sure to wash it once I get out of here. I must stop now, as my sweat might stain the letter.

We need to stop by small oases from time to time to fill our water tanks and for the camediles to drink themselves. The nights have not been any better, as they are cold, and some of us have gotten frostbite. Keeping a fire during the night was not a good idea, as it attracts predators. I would rather not talk about that night. I could see some animals drinking from there before we got there, but they scrambled to the raised dust clouds in the distance. We used to talk to each other in some parts of the night, mainly as it was too cold to fall asleep. There, Aston and Martin told more about what they were after. They told me about this famous traveler called “The great Lander,” which bothered them and others because he would not write down his name, meaning that they too fought what he was called. I told them to shut up about it, but soon they would continue anyways. They are like a married couple, arguing every day unless someone shuts their mouth.

We got hit by a storm. It was worse than they explained. The desert winds are no laughing matter; they can cut trees by slicing them with sand caught in the wind. I needed to hide inside my tent for a while. Once it was over, I dug myself out of the sand as my tent was covered beneath a dune. The amount of sand in my clothes rustles as I ride my camedile, and I could swear I heard the guides snickering about it by themselves. Others thought they lost me to the dunes, but I loved the faces they had once I preached the surface right before their feet. I got kicked right after as they thought I was some sandworm or a husk.

I could not have thought that something like that existed—a massive pillar of some rock poking out of the sand. That was the sacred city of Aflateleyla, also known as devil’s tooth. It just got more significant as we approached, reaching the high heavens as we arrived at the base. This was our destination. Tourists piled next to it to take photos, but no one could grab any part of it. The guides left us there to look at it. It was bizarre, as there was no town next to it or anything, but then one of our remaining explorers, Hortensia, told us that the city was on top of it. I looked around but saw no elevator or anything, not even stairs leading up. We went to a booth that explained it. Around the rock would be a path, so we started walking.

It took us almost half an hour to go around, but we arrived at the other side, where a small shack rested. An indigenous man there knew why we were there but said we needed authentication to enter, which we provided. Next was the most challenging part, as the man told us that the only path allowed by the people to scale the mountain was by hand. I could not believe it, but the man said it was pretty easy. The rock was porous like a sponge, yet harsh and hard. Hortensia started climbing straight away, and soon we could not makeup but her puffy dark hair. Aston and Martin were skeptical but were soon pressuring me after climbing a few meters. The man said that the sand is quite soft to land from some distance, but there would be ledges that we could use when we were tired. Soon enough, we had climbed around one-fifth of the way, and the wind had gotten stronger. Others took rests on the ledges, while Hortensia probably already waited at the top. I would have preferred some climbing equipment, but that was also banned.

I would not have believed I could have done it, but soon my friends stretched their arms to heave me up from the last ledge. The climbing was made relatively easy because we had to abandon most of our equipment for safekeeping at the bottom, as they did not allow technology inside. Once there, we could see the small town that had burrowed itself into this rugged rock and lived here as a tribe of their own. Tiny wooden and clay houses are everywhere, and some are bigger near the center, where a sizeable empty square is used as a place of worship. I’m not sure if they allow me to use a ballpoint pen, so I’ll stop writing here. If an opportunity arises, I will write more once I get my hands on a regular pen.

Finally got me a regular pen. Not that we didn’t have any, but Aston and Martin didn’t want to borrow theirs. We’ve been here a couple of days, and this place is truly marvelous. There are even water fountains that scientists say are created with the capillary phenomenon. The religion practiced here is interesting as well. The adulthood ritual here is that young boys must jump into the large canyon that runs through the city, splitting it into the lower and upper city. It’s not suicide, but they need to time it correctly and be light enough that a strong gust of wind will lift them back up. We got accepted to talk to the village elder, the archpriest. He told us that a traveler came here when he was just a boy and helped the village to become independent and a world heritage site. Sadly, we would not get any more information, as they seem to call him just the “land traveler.” They did tell us that he continued down south, so we will probably go there then and look out for more similar stories.

We just arrived back in civilization, so I’ll mail this now and write again soon enough. Don’t worry about me. The next place shouldn’t be as dangerous as that.

To my loving family and wife, Emil Eislandr.”

“Seems like he is having a fun time,” Deras ate more cake.

“Something is written at the back.” Orel noticed.

“Oh, sorry.” Tuja flipped it.

“I almost forgot to mention. Orel, I heard you would start your own journey soon. While I cannot send you off myself, I know that it means a lot to you, and I’m proud of you. If you are reading this, please do not be shy to leave your message to me if you stop by home, or perhaps I can hear what you have told Tuja and others. You can also try and find me here in Zabad. Since we did not get too much from our little trip, I’ll be here for a while. I will let them know to expect you. Was that a bit too much? No, I know you will visit there one way or another.”

“See you soon.” Tuja read the other part.

“There he goes off again,” Deras said. “Wish I still had all that spunk.”

“I’ve only read about Aflateleyla but always wanted to see it for myself, yet more sun isn’t something I desire now,” Norman scratched his skin.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Andras said.

After the food was gone and Andras and Deras were drinking drinks, Tuja came to Orel to talk privately in his room. Orel was sitting alone, leaning to his workbench.

“Are you going to write a letter for him? We can keep it when he returns.” Tuja asked.

“I’ll think about it.”

“What is the matter?”

She came closer to Orel and could hear that he was upset.

“Is this about Emil?”

“I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I saw him,”

Tuja needed to think of her words before continuing. Her son was in a very sensitive mood, and her choice of words could make the difference between easing his pain or making it worse.

“Your father is a capable man, and I’m sure he is coming back soon if you don’t run into him before it. Emil cares about you. He even carved that table once he heard I was carrying you.”

“I guess so.” Orel sighed.

“You need to take care of yourself too, and frankly, I can’t be there for you. You need to trust your friend. I want you all coming home safe.” Tuja almost shed a tear.

Orel stood up to hug her mother. They shared a quiet moment. Both of them needed to relieve some stress and anxiety that had built up. The hug made them both feel a bit better, and after a while, they could let go.

“Come on, let’s go back to the living room before anyone gets worried.” Tuja smiled.

The evening turned to night when most people went to sleep. Tuja had stopped Andras and Deras after getting too loud, and Norman went to sleep early in the granary. Everyone turned the lights off, and the house laid silent, or at least mainly. Deras was sleeping extra loudly because of the alcohol, but it did not bother most of the family, but someone still did not get sleep. It was not because of the snoring or the ticking of the clocks around the house; Orel was kept awake by something else. An hour passed looking at the ceiling, yet no sleep came, so he decided to go out for a while. Quietly sneaking and avoiding the creaky boards, Orel descended from the second floor to the front door. Slowly pulling the handle, the door opened just enough for him to pass through and close it afterward.

Once outside, Orel walked through the forest to the rocks on the shore. Gusts of wind rustled the grass and the trees while small waves hit the coast. The fresh air flapped his pajamas wildly, yet he did not feel cold at all. Sitting on a batch of moss, Orel looked at the horizon. The crescent moon had risen to the sky, and the stars were unveiled along with the nebula. He gazed at it for a time that felt like an eternity, just as he had so many times before, but it was as if he did not see the same landscape. Once, he saw infinite possibilities; now, it was layered by a coat of danger. He did not know what would await him there or if he was ready to face the challenges, which would, without a doubt, only get more challenging as he would press onward.

Orel could hear someone walk beside him and sit down. He did not care and was quite sure who it was.

“Can’t sleep either?” Norman sat next to him.

They sat together for a while, not speaking a word. Both saw the ocean ahead, yet was it the same? What did the two think in all that silence, and what did they see?

“I’ve had nights like these as long as I can remember—too many things to think about. It keeps you awake and slowly eats your heart out. You stop doing things and can’t enjoy the things you used to. At some point, you just feel stuck. Knowing too much just leaves you thinking all the time. I’ve always thought of stupid people as lucky, you know? I’d rather trade my head for an empty one. Yet here I am, still going my way.” Norman gazed deeply at the horizon.

Orel looked over and saw Norman smiling ever so slightly. It felt peculiar to him to see a man tell his suffering yet still smile. The tranquil expression was like watching a calm lake, contrasting the somber look on Orel’s face.

“What keeps you going?” Orel asked.

Norman seemed to go back to his senses to glance at Orel before lifting his gaze and falling to lie on the ground. He sighed deeply and kept his eyes closed for a while.

“Because it’s what I want to do.” Norman opened his eyes.

“Even if it hurts?”

“Dreams aren’t called dreams if they are easy. I wouldn’t care about it if was that easy to do. The start isn’t even the hardest part; it’s keeping it up. Still, even if you stay rolling, you need to remember where to go, or you’re just a mossless stone. I’m not going to stop because some half-brain told me it was stupid. I don’t care what others say. I mean, what do they know. I’ll smile with the shittiest grin ever when I prove them wrong.”

“But aren’t you wasting your time…I’ve only slowed you down.”

Norman let out a small laugh.

“I once thought I was on some race against time with my life—Vita Brevis, Ars Longa, as they say. But life isn’t all about the goals you set. Life doesn’t give a shit about what you planned, so you shouldn’t care if things go wrong. That’s why I don’t mind taking some detours along the way.”

Orel could not say anything. He could only turn to look at the sky as well; what Norman said resonated in his heart. They were words of advice hardened by time. Orel smiled as they looked at the countless stars on the fabric of space. He felt the same tranquil feeling next to Norman, at least for a moment.

“You wanted to go to Albion next, right?” Norman asked.

“Yeah,”

“Alrighty, guess there is nothing else to say.”

“Aren’t you going to warn me?” Orel asked.

“You already know. Besides, preparation is only half the battle.” Norman said. “Do you have a plan?”

“How could I without my tactician?” Orel smiled.

Norman smiled back. “Then we better start working,”

Both felt at ease talking to each other, but Orel thought of it as more meaningful. He hadn’t had this type of casual talk between friends for a while and wanted to keep it going as long as he could. The night was still young, and Orel felt like talking to the break of dawn, as long as Norman was willing.

“What did you write in the paper?” Orel asked.

“Nothing special. My name and some words.”

“Do you already have ideas on how to get to Albion?”

“It’s pretty hard. Their security is tight. No weapons or magic items are allowed inside the country. If they figure out that you are a mage, you must present them with a valid reason or a pass; else, they will arrest you. We need to get a pass to bring our items and ourselves for our benefit.” Norman explained.

“Have you figured out a way to do that?”

“I am allowed if I fill a form, but it is a different deal for you. That’s why we will land a job there.”

“A job, from who?” Orel asked.

“The Guild.”

“Oh.” Orel realized.

“There is just one problem.” Norman pointed out.

“What?”

“Job offers are scarce from Albion, so we need to be quick to accept any that come across,”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

“We might get a very weird one, and we must also finish it for legal reasons,” Norman sighed. “But we’ll see.”

“I guess you’re right,” Orel said. “Do you think we are up for it?”

“For Albion? Hmmm, maybe with some training.” Norman said.

“When do we start?”

“Tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

“Always.”

So had their first journey come to an end and the second to be started once they were ready. This time, Orel was sure that everyone would reach the realm, not just himself. It was a vow he had made himself and one that he was sure to follow. He also would plan along with Norman much more meticulously than before, as their next destination was a land that did not take errors well. That was the land of the white rocks, the fog-smeared island, home of the legendary proud knights of Pendragon, now a closed-off state ruled with an iron fist. That is how most people know Albion. Their journey was sure to be more challenging than they could imagine, as it was the first ordeal of getting inside the country. They had left the frozen north; next, they would set sail to the coasts Southwest. How they did not yet know, but sure they were. It was the next step in their great adventure that was starting. Orel had prepared seven books he could write full of his adventures, and that night, after he returned inside, he wrote the final words to his first logbook before falling asleep at his desk, dreaming of the future. However wild those dreams can be, he would not guess what situations they will find themselves in. Fate is often vowed quite complicated and unexpectedly, like a fine rug. It is up to the person if they call it unfair or exciting.

The roundabout journey to the frozen north, with a sidetrack to home and back, has come to a close. This has been the beginning chapter, the first logbook, a prologue to their journey and whatever lies ahead. Even if this story has ended, its marks won’t fade, and they are sure to follow the three adventurers to their next adventure far beyond the horizon.