Zantheus walked on. He barely even knew why any more, but it was what he had been doing for so long, so he just did it. For a time he did not even know if he was going in the right direction, but he did not even realise this. He was thinking about Anthē. Had he meant to kiss her? There were certain things he had wanted to say to her, but –no, that was impossible, that was not allowed. He drifted through the streets of Qereth, the city he had been longing to arrive in for such a long time, entirely preoccupied, not noticing a single thing or person.

Why had he just walked off like that, leaving her alone? There were still things he had had left to say to her, weren’t there? He was confused. His thoughts were fragmenting. What did he think of to calm himself down when he felt like this? Of course, the mountain. That was what had drawn him forward all these months; it would not fail him now. Soon he would be able to see it. He would be able to see it now were it not for all these buildings around him.

It occurred to him to ask someone for directions. The first two people he tried just looked at him strangely, as if they were offended that he had tried to talk to them, but a third lady pointed him in the right direction. After that it was not long before he recognised the wide straight road that they had seen when they had first entered Qereth, the one that ran north to south across it. He would only then have to follow it to the centre of the city and turn right, taking him up the east-west road and out of the East Gate. From there it was only a short trek across the Aythian plain before Awmeer, and the Sanctuary, would rise to greet him.

He was unbearably close now, just on the cusp of returning. But then why did it seem like it was taking so long, and why was he not happier? He cursed Qereth under his breath for being such a huge, sprawling city. It took him an hour on the north-south road before he even reached the centre. At last it merged into a great square, the locus of activity in the city, paved with stone.

If he had thought that the south sector was crowded, this was even worse. It was entirely covered with people, men and women, young and old, rich and poor, making their way from one part of the city to another, or meeting up with one another. There were no shop buildings here, but this did not stop the street sellers from plying their trade out of their carts or, if they were more successful, semi-permanent wooden stalls dotted here and there around the square. Zantheus could barely handle it, he was not used to being around so many people, in such a claustrophobic atmosphere. He spied the easterly road leading over from the square to the East Gate. It ran more or less parallel to the river Nahar, which he was pleased to see again flowing through the city. This river, the same that had cut through Ubal, the same that he had sailed up for many days, was familiar. It would lead him home.

He clung to it, beginning the long march out of the city. He was still getting odd looks from some of the citizens. A mother chided her son for staring and pointing at him. Of course, Aythian knights were not meant to journey outside the Sanctuary, and here he was now close enough to the Sanctuary for people to know this. Well, he would be back soon.

It must happen soon. Why would it not happen sooner? He could see the mountain now, unobscured ahead of him down the road. The mountain! The image that he had seen in countless dreams and called into his mind to pull him forwards countless times was now present to his waking eyes. It had not all just been a dream. He had lived in this country once before, worked and slept in sight of that mountain, Mount Awmeer. It was real.

Somewhere up ahead at the foot of that majestic mountain was the Sanctuary, the place he had been raised and trained and moulded into an Aythian knight. This filled him with deep relief, but at the same time it did not dispel the sense of unease that he was carrying in his chest. What was he leaving behind in returning to his home, now that he had made the journey back?

The day was escaping him. Qereth went on and on, packed full of row upon row of buildings and streets he did not care about in the slightest. At this rate he would not get to the Sanctuary before nightfall. He was not happy about that. Today was the day. He must get back today.

Eventually he arrived at the East Gate, the Water Gate as it is known. There was a grate in the wall where the river flowed through, and beside it the same tall iron doors he had seen in the south. Evening had arrived by this time –at the inn Anthē was eating dinner in silence with Tromo and Leukos– and a large man in a smart blue uniform was just pushing one of the doors shut. He stopped Zantheus as he passed through.

“Hey, you know you won’t be allowed back in until tomorrow?”

Zantheus looked at the ignorant man. “Yes, I know.”

“Here, aren’t you one of those Aythian knights?!”

“Yes,” said Zantheus. He walked on. That was who he was. He was a First Paragon of the Aythian Order. No one in Mashal could take that from him No one in Mashal was going to stop him from achieving his destiny. Walk on. He must walk on.

It was getting darker. The river started to shimmer with silver at his side. He must press on, though the darkness encompass him, though he be unable to see where he was going, even if the darkness entered his mind. As the visible landscape slowly disappeared, it was replaced by a vision of endless hills inside his head. Not now. Any time but now. He had been doing so well, they had not been bothering him for such a long time. He was so close, he had nearly returned, he was almost back. Why would they enter his head now? In the dark, inside his head, he was not walking across a plain towards a mountain, he was running up and down endless hills of green grass, which stretched on and on forever, and never brought him to a destination or an end. Why would they not come to an end? Would he never be free of them? He had been on this journey for such a long time.

What was it that Leukos had said? “I am in a different place now to the place where I was in when I started this journey with you.”

Was he in a different place? After all this time, had he come any further, or was he still stuck in the same place as ever, wandering, lost?

The darkness was thick here. His mood went black. He could not keep walking any more. He had not reached the Sanctuary but he was too tired to carry on. The tedium was too much, the crushing weight of the darkness, the aloneness, he felt so alone. He lay down next to the river and fell asleep.

Asleep by the river, Zantheus felt as if the darkness was invading his mind. But there, as he lay curled up in the pitch blackness of the night, halfway between Qereth and Awmeer, an invisible wanderer on the plain of Aythia, the great Paragon reduced to the state of a shivering little child, there in a dream, if it was such, someone spoke to him. And they said “Listen to me. I am with you. I was with you when you started this journey and I have been with you every step of the way since. I was with you when you fell into the sky, I was with you when you nearly drowned, I was with you when you lost your way in the forest and fell into the Hamartia. And I am with you now, and I will always be with you. I have seen what you are about to do. I will make sure that you finish this journey. Keep going. Keep walking.” And he treasured these words in his sleep.

When the sun dawned, Awmeer was illuminated once more. Towering and wreathed in snow, it seemed closer than ever. Zantheus got up and put one foot in front of the other.

So it was that he came to the doors of the Aythian Sanctuary early in the morning of the day after he had arrived in Qereth.

He was home.

He breathed in the cold air as he stood before the high wooden doors. This was the point where his thoughts converged. This was the point where the future became the present. This was his moment, here, now. Return.

The doors should be unlocked at this hour of the day, Helladius would have seen to that on his early morning rounds. He grasped a copper ring, turned, and pushed.

It was very still inside the Sanctuary. The novices would be out on the slopes doing their early morning exercises. How he had missed the comfort and familiarity of this place. The light coming through the high slotted windows draped over the stone floor of the wide entrance area. He could hear footsteps echoing through the stillness, getting closer. Someone was coming round the corner. It was a knight carrying a tray.

“Zantheus!”

The tray clattered to the ground, predictably. How fitting that the first person he meet should be Gaius, his closest friend at the Sanctuary. Tall and nearly as broad shouldered as him, with brown-blonde hair and thick-set features.

“Gaius, I’ve returned!” He approached his friend and made to embrace him, but stopped when he saw the look of confusion on Gaius’s face and heard his words.

“Zantheus, what are you doing back so soon?”

Zantheus did not understand. “What do you mean, ‘so soon’? I’ve been gone for months!”

Gaius’s face mirrored his own in still profounder confusion.

“No, you have not! Your departure ceremony was only yesterday!”

“Yesterday? I know it may seem like only yesterday...but it’s actually been quite a long time now...”

“No, you only left yesterday. Do you not remember?” Gaius’s confusion merged into concern. “Why have you come back so soon? Was the mountain too difficult for you to climb?”

“No, I—” Zantheus was about to tell him that he had climbed Awmeer, that he had found a mirror, and that been thrown into the sky, but he knew that this would sound absurd. He did not understand what Gaius was saying to him. His world was crumbling around him. This was supposed to be a place of refuge, of solace, but it was only bringing him chaos and uncertainty. “Yesterday? I only left yesterday?”

“Yes. We all watched you go! Are you feeling alright, Zantheus? Do you need to sit down?”

Zantheus was not feeling alright. Everything had been swept out from underneath him.

“Rhemeus,” said Zantheus, steadying himself. Rhemeus would know what to do.

“Rhemeus?” asked Gaius. “You want to speak with Rhemeus? Alright, I was just taking up his morning meal.” He gestured towards the fallen tray.

“Do not mind that,” said Zantheus. He began walking in the direction of Rhemeus’s room. He still knew the layout of the Sanctuary by heart. This place was familiar. This place was real. This was where he had grown up. Nothing had changed. It was stable, fixed.

They hurried down the corridors and came to the relevant flight of steps. Rhemeus was the Head of their Order. His room was at the top of the Sanctuary’s main tower. They paced the stairs to its highest point, a cramped, rectangular landing with a small table. Muttered voices were coming through the door.

“He’s in a meeting with a Government representative,” said Gaius in a whisper. “I was instructed to leave the tray on the table. We should probably wait until they finish their meeting.”

“No,” said Zantheus. “I must speak with him now.” He raised a fist to knock. He had to get to the bottom of this.

Only, for some reason, he hesitated. He thought he had heard a word come through the door, and this made him stop: The word had been “Academy”. Why was that word being said? He decided to press his ear to the door and listen to the conversation inside, which was forbidden, and is exactly what Anthē would have done.