Jorge was careful to put one foot in front of the other when he stepped out of the carriage back at the runners’ headquarters. His mind felt like it was floating. As promised, the inquisitorial mind reading was worse than being mauled by wild animals. Like a migraine during a brain freeze times some arbitrary multiplier. He began to question if it would be worth it to involve himself in this world’s matters if these sorts of experiences were going to be reoccurring.

Yavi handed him a cup of coffee from the kitchens. If the captain was sympathetic, he didn’t show it on his face. Jorge assumed the offer was the condolence.

“You are free of suspicion now,” Yavi said.

“Yeah Faleria is secure,” Jorge muttered bitterly. Rubbing his temples didn’t help, but he did it anyway.

“We do thousands of acts like this every day. Most don’t reveal some sort of plot. That’s the price of freedom.”

Jorge smiled briefly. He sipped the coffee. It was bitter but not sour. And was indescribably unlike Earth coffee, yet it was nothing if not coffee.

“Every city has that child in the oubliette,” he said.

“Beg pardon?”

Jorge shook his head. “An insight from an old story where I’m from.”

“Right… Well, what now? Need fare to go back into the woods? There’s a forest northwest of here by two months of travel. I can write up a reparations clause that’d cover it.”

“I didn’t live in Heldrazi because I wanted to.” Jorge tried his best to think about what he was supposed to do next. Was he involved yet? He couldn’t quite tell. This was the first time he had true volition over where he was supposed to be, and he found himself quite lost. Finally, after a few minutes of mulling over it, he said, “I think I’ll sleep on it.”

“Wish I had done that all those years ago.”

“What? You regret something?”

“I joined the military because my brother did,” Yavi said. “I was young. An exuberant teen. Somewhere along the way I decided that war wasn’t my thing.”

“What happened?”

Yavi stared at the black beverage in his hands for a few moments before answering.

“I think it was during the height of the war. It’s hard to place the time of the memory. Like an idiot I made friends, and there we were, together, thinking boldly to ourselves that we alone would be the heroes of this story. We had breached one of Aldren’s greatest cities then. Their walls burned, their bunkers in ruins, their soldiers on their knees. Me and the boys went back for a drink thinking we were heroes for being one step closer to defeating an evil empire. I only learned years later that while we drank, our nation’s Death Hunters were scouring the city slaughtering male children and anyone who might have the mental fortitude to grow up and be a threat to our nation. Then came the sun. It was night time. We thought we were hallucinating. But then we felt the heat. I was the quickest. I jumped into a trench while the entire encampment was enveloped in arcane flame. The entire battalion was incinerated down to a small handful of lucky souls. We had won a great battle that day, without realizing that we had pushed Aldren too far. They had sent the Fire Scourge, the Celestine Sorcerer, just two of his many names. Most knew him as Tireliam, Highcaster.”

Yavi drew a deep breath. “Young boys fancy violence as a solution to problems. Hell, our most compelling fairy tales feature it. We use violence to destroy a villain, and violence to threaten children back on the right path. And it bloody well might be the absolute cure to most issues. But it’s hard to tell if the toll is worth it when you’re just one man.”

“You deserted, didn’t you?” Jorge said.

“I was discharged for mental unfitness.” Yavi laughed. His eyes reflected the lamplight. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to not recognize the friends you thought you would be glad to die serving with, but instead be able to smell them in the air while you alone survived?”

“…No.” Jorge lowered his head. “My life has been… exceedingly comfortable for most of its runtime. My people are so innocent. They fantasize about travelling—let’s call it that—to this kind of world, like an escape. For fun. After my time here, I just can’t imagine a world that’s easy to live in.”

“Your people sound strange.”

“They’re not strange. Just ridiculous.”

He finished his coffee with the captain, deciding that he no longer disliked the man after they parted ways. Jorge retired to his room without joining the others at dinner. He needed the rest after the procedure he just underwent. Sleep possessed him like death. He did not dream, and saw no vision, and met no entity. So when he was awoken while the sky was still dark, his brow sharpened into a glare.

“Why am I awake?” He said with a growl.

“I was sent to get you,” Lisŗa hissed. “The city is in chaos!”

“What?”

Jorge scrambled out of his bed. He grabbed his axe and followed her outside. The air was alive with the sound of fire and shouting. Over the rooftops of Ralagast, orange permeated the night. There was fire in all directions, the telltale flicker of destruction. Faint screams could be heard farther away, deeper in the city.

“Where’s June?” He asked.

“She’s safe. She’s a noncombatant. I’m not.”

“Well, what am I?”

“Whatever you want to be with that thing,” Lisŗa said, nodding at his axe. “We’ve been ordered to evacuate people away from the palatial center. Whatever you want to do is your choice. I’ve been told you’re not beholden to Faleria anymore.” With that, she deftly jumped onto the rooftops, disappearing towards the center of the city.

Jorge was left by himself on an empty street, dumbfounded. He grit his teeth.

“Fuck it!” He began running, following the loudest source of violence in the heart of Ralagast.