Armad lost consciousness shortly after using the Wilberforce Sword Dance. After waking up, he found himself in an unfamiliar place with no idea how he got there, or how much time had passed while he was unconscious.

He had been asked by his captors to put his blood on a board. And a voice from the board had spoken to him about the only race living in the first world, Ururu. It was disturbing, to say the least.

If what he heard came to pass then another war was inevitable. When the lower worlds eventually found out about it, the world would burn with conflicts that would spur another rebellion, and peace would end. But what should he do about it? This was a question he couldn't answer now.

The princess and her siblings might hunt him down to prevent the information from getting out. He would have to think about everything over when he was safe.

Right now, he was in an endless field of barren land. It looked dry and desert-like no matter how far he looked. Armad wasn't surprised to see himself there. After all, it wasn't the first time he used Wilberforce sword dance and woke up elsewhere.

He had asked Professor Zaikid about it the first time it happened.

"You're not good at it," Zaikid had said. "Listen, when you use that Bend you are essentially crossing over and you will have to bear with the consequences."

The old man explained to him how cross over worked. Every Bender had their djinn which allowed them to Bend. You crossed over when you learned a skill from a djinn of another Bender. Like Armad using the Wilberforce Sword Dance that was solely created by Zaikid and his Djinn.

Cross over Bends were extremely difficult to learn. And even if you managed to learn, you would find them with special consequences.

Armad would only cross over when he found himself in a difficult situation. Because whenever he did, he would wake up somewhere a day's ride or two away from where he used it.

Armad closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. After some time, he realized he was wearing a strange cloth. A girly robe with a flower around the arms.

He looked around him with a frown. Even though the place didn't look like any human being could live in it, there had to be someone to change his clothes. It wasn't the first time he woke up naked after crossing over, so someone, probably a girl, must have helped him with the new dress.

He looked around for his sword, but it wasn't there. There was a long metallic board behind him with names on it. Each name had a number and date on it, which was the first thing he had seen besides the barren land ever since he woke up.

The names were a bit strange.

1. Bihanzin Djinn, 1833

1. Ikenga O. Bayajidda, 1852

1. Deniz Bizáya, 1852.

1852 caught his attention. The year was 1851, the year the rebellion was crushed and his mother became sick. It had only been days since he left home. So, when did 1852 start?

He followed the names one by one, looking at the year of each name. His eyes fell on a name with 1853.

Heart pounding, he quickly went through all the names. The year 1853 was the highest. But why was it 1853?

As he thought about it, he saw a shadow approaching him from a distance. A tall black woman appeared. She walked with confident steps and had a slight frown on her face.

She was young. Not much older than him, probably two or three years older. She had long hair which she gathered and tied at the back of her head.

Stopping about five feet from him, she slipped her right hand into her veil - to which Armad tensed up - and pulled out a sword. She threw it at him.

Armad recognized his sword as he grabbed it midair, feeling as if he had been walking around naked and was just given clothes. It was his sword.

He noticed that his clothes and that of the woman in front of him looked the same. Having understood what that meant, he quickly bowed his head.

"Thank you," he said.

When he didn't get any response, he raised his head and looked at her. She was still looking at him with the same expressionless face. It was as if she didn't hear him at all. Though it could be a language barrier. After debating for a while, he turned around and left. There were many ways to test the cognition of a person.

It worked.

"What's your name?" She asked. "Why are you here? How did you come here?" Her voice showed no signs of fear, anger, or joy as if she didn't care about his answers at all.

Armad turned around to face her. So she spoke Aldurish.

He debated on what to do. For one, he didn't feel any danger or evil in the woman - and he usually got a rough feeling of people's intention through their pol - but that shouldn't be any assurance. But he needed her. When would he see another human in that place again?

He sat down and motioned for her to sit close to him. She stared at him for a long moment before she picked a spot a couple of meters away from him and sat.

After she sat down, she motioned for him to speak.

"Before I tell you my name and how I came here," Armad said. "Please, can you tell me what year is this?"

Surprised, she looked him up and down, and replied, "1853."

Armad jumped up, his mouth hanging wide open, and his eyes bulging out. "1853? It can't be. I left home a few days ago and it was 1851, the year the rebellion ended."

The woman looked at him silently, trying to ascertain his mental status, but no matter how hard she looked, it was clear he was telling the truth. So she kept quiet, mulling it over.

"Please, can you lend me an Ayrid? I want to send a message home."

She stared at him blankly, and then looked away.

Armad realized he needed to give her something for her to cooperate. Ayrid was expensive. Even if she had it she wouldn't just give it to him without any reason to. So he told to her how he set out from home, and how Nostalgia and her siblings tried to kill him, and how he used Wilberforce Sword Dance to flee. He hid his real name and any mention of the board and what it said. Finally, he explained to her the need for him to send a message home.

After staring at him for a long moment, she reached into her veil and picked up an ayrid seed, and threw it at him.

Armad reached out and grabbed it. He punctured his index finger with his nails and spilled the blood on the seed. He cut a small part of the turban covering his forehead and tied it around the seed, and buried it.

They sat there in silence. Armad had just sent a message to his grandfather Zaikid and was waiting for a reply. While the girl was thinking about what to do with him.

After a few minutes, the soil around them trembled slightly. At the same place where Armad had buried the seed, a small plant came out of the ground. At the top of the plant was a white flower. Armad reached out and snatched it. As soon as he held it in his hands, writings appeared on it.

It read:

My grandson Armad!

I have been sending you messages for the past few months and you haven't replied even once, but it seems you're fine. I haven't been home myself, but I heard what happened. I am proud of you.

Your mother has been getting better, and if you don't hurry, I don't know what to tell her when she wakes up.

Hurry up and get home. I look forward to seeing the progress you have made.

Watch out for Ururu. They infected your mother. I hope the next time I see your message will be on your way home.

His grandfather had been sending him messages for the past few months...

He inhaled deeply and allowed himself to drench in his sweat. For a long moment, he remained silent, looking up at the bland sky with bated breath.

The young woman looked at him with a sigh. "So, you are telling me you don't even know how you got here? That you just cross over, and you opened your eyes and saw yourself here. Meanwhile, you have absolutely no recollection of the last two years."

The girl looked up at Armad in disbelief. Was he saying the truth? She sighed and looked away to the side.

"This place is one of the three major practice grounds under Mikironomada. It is created and reserved for the training of the elite forces in the kingdom.

"I do not know how you got in here. For the only way to get here is in the capital of Arwa-da-Madar."

She silently studied him with her eyes. After a while, she frowned.

"You don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Armad shook his head.

She held her forehead with her left hand and sighed, and for the first time since her encounter with him, she looked sympathetic, which lasted for only a second before she regained her composure.

"Well," she said. "How you came in doesn't matter now. You're already here. It's been three years since I came here, and I've been trying to get out since."