It took nearly an entire day’s light to reach the first stop on the vacation. Max and Emi could have arrived by themselves quicker, but the residents of the Pocket World were bored and anxious. So, the party stopped several times to fit in proper meals, bathroom breaks, and even to kill a high-level monster or two. Over all, the journey was bittersweet.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, fantastical views across vast open landscapes from an angle that most would never see were what kept Max sane during the long-distance travels. Every teleport brought new lands, new things to look at. One moment he and Emi would be over a forest full of snowcapped trees, next they would be standing above a dead straw field fixed with a serene silence.

But, at the same time, Max knew what he was leaving behind. And more importantly, why he was leaving it. He felt awful for Tobyn’s fate - if he could go back and change things, he would. But a deep undertone of selfishness harped at his mental. Max was beginning to despise Tobyn’s son.

But, in a way, Max also found his forced vacation fitting… like serving penance.

It had only been a few hours since the party left Lesterwood and Esmel, but the time scale could have fooled the Lost Lord and his bonded monster. Traveling without knowledge of the location – without having visited before, in other words – was a time sink. But, still, they arrived infinitely faster than traveling by foot or carriage.

Max and Emi stood high in the sky speaking to one another on an Immovable Platform. The Human of the group was allowing his mana to refill fully before ending this portion of their journey. In a moment they would be standing on a dock waiting for a ferry – that is, after they bought tickets of course.

“No,” Max said, rubbing his eyes, “I don’t think the Isle will only serve fish. It will be a main staple of the cuisine, but they should have vegetables at the very least.”

Emi huffed as her internal image of their destination crumbled away in broken hope. Eventually she solemnly climbed back on her partner’s shoulder before the pair disappeared out of the sky and into the small port below.

The port itself was nothing more than an extra-large single dock. After all, only having a single ferry wouldn’t be cause for massive expansion. Max and Emi landed behind a small shed that overlooked the brisk ocean. It was windy today, but the surf looked calm. Oddly calm…

It took Max a moment, but he realized a set of runic buoys were tasked with calming waves and the swelling tide. Neat trick, He thought.

A purple crack in space opened just beyond the Lost Lord’s shoulder. It shimmered as it fully realized before cascading away in shrapnel of broken mana and colored space. The sight of Max’s Pocket World opening was always a mesmerizing effect.

An overly pale hand and wrist shot out of the Pocket’s entrance, or in this case, its exit. Next came a foot that was wearing a shoe two sizes too small. It hesitantly felt the ground, like the blind feeling for the curb or an explorer testing an ancient rope bridge. After confirming the solidity of the floor, and the exit not exiting midair, Isaac stepped through with a bright smile.

“Are we finally here, Mr. Carriage?” The immortal man asked with a flare of the lip and puff of the chest.

While Max was still hesitant around the creator of Vast Empire, over the course of three meals and several bathroom breaks, he had come to realize something about the man. Isaac was just as lost as he was. The magical contract binding confirmed the Immortal didn’t have any ill intention towards Max or the others… or anyone for that matter… except for maybe the Gods. He was aimless in a world that needed direction.

The man had become quippy, often saying one-liner jokes or small insults – like “Mr. Carriage.” These jokes were often made at his own expense, mainly degrading himself in certain ways that highlighted his immortality, but a few were directed at Max.

Max found the banter rather endearing, actually. Isaac was someone who had gone without true social interaction for a long, long while. Him being able to join right into normal conversation was something to marvel at. Max also felt a pang of nostalgia during these conversation, they reminded him of home, of Earth. His friends specifically.

Max bowed like a [Butler], “Quite right, me’ Lord. This way please…” He gestured with his hands for Isaac to move, when the immortal didn’t, Max broke the charade, “We keep telling you not to stand in the entrance. The others are waiting for you to move.”

Isaac looked over his shoulder at the purple shimmer and a pair of hands feeling out as if searching for a light switch in the dark, “Oh, right. Sorry.” He meekly moved away but smiled as he did while taking in the surroundings. The ocean specifically.

Alia and Celenia exited next, both moving away from the Pocket World with practiced expertise. The spell faded a moment later and the group all stood together watching the small waves crash into the lackluster beach. Max idly thought that moments like this may make the vacation worth it. At least for now.

Celenia signaled for Max to follow, and he did. A moment later they were alone a few paces away from the others.

“What do you think of him?” The Elf asked.

“Isaac? I’m not too sure yet, but I like him better than when we first met.” Max responded.

“We’ve, Alia and I that is, have been talking with him for the better part of the day. Now, unless he found a way to break the anti-lying portion of the contract, I think he is genuine.”

Max had a bit of a realization at this statement. Previously he had thought and assumed that Isaac would be solely his responsibility. With their magical binding, it would be easy to always pair them together, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. Celenia and Alia both were here, as well as Emi. All three of them had opinions to form around the man.

A weight lifted from the Lost Lord’s shoulders. One he didn’t fully realize he had.

“Good. Good,” He lamely said back, his mind elsewhere, “That’s… good. I’m still going to watch him for now, but I’m glad we are thinking similar things.”

Celenia chuckled at this and stood tall and kissed Max, “Lighten up, just look at where we are! This is going to be fun; don’t you think?”

Max ignored his bonded partner sending puking memories, obviously jokingly disgusted in the interaction between himself and the Elf and looked around. While the port itself was only a single dock, the town connected to it was much larger, albeit still over populated.

Villagers and those who were likely to be pilgrims from far lands walked the muddied pathways. Tourists and those in need stood around the edges of buildings, either pedaling for money or laughing with their peers. Wooden housing took up most of the territory, each retrofitted with fishing tools such as drying hooks or pole racks.

The town expanded all the way to the water line, even crossing over in some places. Some buildings overrose the water, high on stilts, some with small row boats beneath. Each roof was slated with deep red clay tiles that formed an interlocking fixture, just like the buildings themselves. Everything was cramped and being built on top of one another, a limitation of space. But a limitation filled with potential innovation.

The town was immensely crowded, but that was quite understandable since it was the only place around that offered passage to the main Isle.

“Right… fun…” Max finally replied, receiving another chuckle, kiss, and image of throw up in response.

The group reconvened together to watch the sunset. The late arrival to the city was echoed by the dwindling winter months, it was dark before dinner. That didn’t stop a certain little monster from having dried and fried fish chips as a snack, extra salty, the way she liked it. Pretty soon the ferry would close for the night, so the group made their way to catch the only transit.

Max could easily teleport them over, but where was the fun in that?

They found the ticket booth for the ferry and waited for the behemoth of a ship to slowly crawl its way through the water back to the port town. The ship itself was a multi-tiered vessel fit with hundreds of windows and even more railings to lean against. The sight of their ride made everyone except for Max squeal with excitement, he had rode things of similar stature back on Earth, so the novity had long been worn away.

Still, he smiled at the similarity of the situation as well as the expressions his party made.

After just over an hour, the ferry docked at the Isle, and everyone disembarked while others embarked. They were filed through a line where scrying guards were checking for contraband and or threats. Eventually the group made it through security and on to the island proper.

A guard thick with tattoos spoke as they walked by, “Welcome to the Isle of Hunlun. Enjoy your stay.”

Hunlun, the home state of the Deep Strider Clan, estranged birthplace of Vel, and the residence of the most prominent non-Church healer faction. It was also the furthest place north west of Lesterwood that was still considered to be a part of the continent of Salarin, which served as a perfect place for the groups’ first destination.

The only problem was that if they found out Max’s identity, they local government most likely wouldn’t appreciate his presence. After all, he was the only non-Strider that was known to be able to use healing water magic.

A day passed in Hunlun before Max pin-pointed the problem with the island state. It wasn’t the hundreds of sick and wounded hoping to win the lottery and to have their suffering ended – although that was part of it. It wasn’t the mass migration of [Warriors] and other combat related classes looking to learn from the best [Swordmen] and women of the content.

It was the lack of common decency.

Max counted several times someone’s questions or pleas for help were simply ignored. Someone begging for food? Not even a glance. Someone crying for lost relatives? No one bats an eye. A child lost through the river of stone and tall buildings? Not even a guiding hand.

The even weirder issue was that when Max tried to interact with these people they watched with hollow and scared eyes, like they couldn’t believe someone was talking to them. Just how disconnected was this place and its people, He wondered.

After visiting all of the hot spots, this problem of Hunlun’s came to a final grand culmination. In retrospect, Vel’s home was exactly as she had described the few times she spoke on the matter. It was a self-centered cesspool of money hungry traditional families. Those who needed help were out in droves while those who had the means to help stayed hidden behind obvious wealth.

There was a hierarchy here, it went the families, the guards, the warriors, the citizens, the tourists, then the sick and dying. Those lower in rank were easily ignored without recourse or revision. Those higher in rank stepped on the toes of any and every one in their way. Even Salae wasn’t this bad, and Max despised the way the kingdom capital was ran.

After returning to their overpriced inn from a tour of the Healers’ Sanctum, a building campus that housed a glorified school, it was decided that the group would leave sooner than later. The Isle was supposed to be a destination resort, but the fact of the matter was that Max, Celenia, and Emi were not used to the ignorance and entitlement of local social and economic standard.

Isaac was somewhat ignorant himself of the issue, but no one really blamed him. In fact, the others felt bad about the man’s experiences in Hunlun so far. Everything was new to him, everything. Construction foundations, vibrant dyes, mana lights that weren’t big and bulky, streets that were packed shoulder to shoulder with rushed people.

The man was, in essence but not title, lost. He had served multiple life sentences in a dark damp stone underground hole. He had explained that his right arm had been purposely chained to the wall a few times over the centuries by new guard shifts. They wanted to watch him gnaw off his own wrist for an ounce of freedom. If the guard would simply rechain him was completely dictated on their boredom or disgust.

So, when Isaac found a small fountain that blasted streams of water into the air where they would magically twist into a garden of flowers, everyone understood why he had to look away and hide his tears. It was finally beginning to hit the immortal that his time in captivity was coming to a close, if it hadn’t already been shut tight.

Alia was the most numb to the issue and didn’t understand what the others were talking about until individual situations were pointed out. As a princess, everything she could ever want was given without question. Even without her father’s loving eyes, she held no resentment for her royal blood like her younger sister.

But as Max pointed out more and more personal tragedies simply walking along the street, her opinions about historical rule began to change. Alia had read most of the royal library during her life, she had read first had accounts of slave uprisings, peasant uprisings, massacres, attempted coups, and multiple high-celebrity executions.

She had always felt herself to understand the reasons behind these events. In fact, that was something she prided herself on. She could read and articulate the problem while formulating solutions based around the issue. Her [Tutors] always had given her top marks and now she was wary if she had ever truly learned.

She was beginning to understand the reality of her pampered life.

“See that one over there?” Max asked pointing through his inn room’s window at the bustling street below.

Alia leaned through the cut out, “Which one?”

“The burly looking man with the uncut beard and stained apron.”

“Uhh… No? Right here on the corner or further back?”

“On the corner between those two food carts. Emi, you see him right?”

Emi slithered over from her warm bed with a belly full of food, “Where?” she asked with a lethargic hum.

Max let out a low huff, “Right there! Come on, he’s the closest guy to the broken glass window. He’s standing perfectly still and is staring at the area between the food carts.”

Emi and Alia gave each other a look, “Umm… Max?”

The Lost Lord stood up, “Come on guys, this isn’t the time to mess with me. We were having a serious conversation.”

Celenia came out of one of the side rooms in nightwear, with a yawn she asked, “What’s wrong? Do you mind if we go to bed soon, I’m quite tired from all the walking today.”

“I agree.” Isaac said fiddling with a modern scripture guide for [Priests]. He didn’t want to relive his time as a proctor of a Divine herd, but he also couldn’t let go of the past. At least, not as he thought he already did.

“Celenia, good. You see that man right there, right? White stained apron, staring at the ground.” Max said with a smug ah ha expression as he expected his girlfriend to bail him out of the prank.

The Elf leaned over, “Hmm… The Beastkin flipping over chunks of meat?”

Max deflated, “I’m being serious here. Is there a Human man there? White stained apron. Long shaggy beard. Staring at the ground while not moving at all.”

The look in everyone’s eyes shifted as they looked to the street below and to the worried Lost Lord. He quickly sent mental images to his bonded monster, hoping for an easy answer. It never came.

Max and Emi had long mastered the art of sharing each other’s eyes. While they didn’t actively looked at what the other saw, they sent mental snap shots of their own field of view. This allowed for many advantages in battle as well as covering for each other if the need for unfavorable events ever occurred.

Something strange was happening currently, something that had never occurred during their time bonded. Max could see something Emi couldn’t. Even though they were looking through the same window at the same area, Emi was lacking in a key Human detail.

This sent Max into a panic. His mind raced through multiple situations, each worse than the last. First and foremost was that he was under the effects of an individual illusion. He had not had the displeasure of fighting an [Illusionist] but had seen illusions before. Icarus back in Lesterwood was a master at creating fake things.

Past that Max thought through medical issues, like tumors, strokes, maybe a particularly harsh concussion? He didn’t know if concussions could cause hallucinations, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility. Water came forth through the entrance of his Pocket World and instantly clamped to his head. Healing magic with a drop of Divine mana circulated the bubble helmet looking for issues.

Nothing, he was perfectly fine.

Next he thought about the Divine. Was this a God sending a message? Was it Ofes? Was it Yepu? Did he piss one of the two off to the point they were messing with him? Did Sahhgen want to give her temporary student another lesson? Did Peneil want to hand over his power? Has he come for the Dust of the End?

Curse or gift?

Oh. Max thought, Uhhh. Oh. Oh no. No.

“Talk to us Max.” Celenia said pushing her hands into his.

At some point Max had sat at the edge of his bed, his bubble of healing waters long since dispersed. He was shaking slightly and was oblivious to his surroundings. Distant mutters formed and spewed from his mouth without rhyme or reason.

Finally, in a dejected and muted whisper he said, “It’s a ghost.” Then to repeat the God of Death’s words, “Killing one grants the ability to see the dead. Curse or Gift?”

Suddenly flashes of the last day entered the Lost Lord’s head. He tried to communicate with multiple people throughout the day. People he thought to be overlooked and ignored by others. The beggar asking for food, the woman crying about missing relatives, the child looking for home… They were all dead, all ghosts, all afterimages of people who once lived…

Max silently took a few deep breaths then he disappeared into thin air. The faint pop of a hastily created teleport sounded from outside the inn. He appeared, in stride, walking towards the line of food carts. Ignoring the other venders, he stalked right up to the ghost.

“Hello.” Max said staring directly at the aproned man. He reached out with his Spatial Affinity Racial Trait. Nothing, the man was completely devoid of space, “Can you understand me?”

The ghost didn’t so much as blink.

“Hey, I can see you. Can you understand me?”

One of the nearby venders clinked his tongs, flipped some meat, then turned to Max, “I can understand you. Common is called that because most speak it. Line starts back there.” He pointed with his tongs further down the street past a few patrons in line.

Max didn’t so much as look at the other vender, instead he kept focus on the dead, “Look at me.” He snapped right in the ghost’s face, “Why are you here?”

“What? This is my stall. Get lost or get in line. Stop bothering me.” The other vender snapped.

“What happened here?” Max continued.

The other vender sighed, “Oh, you mean Elmer? He’s going to be missed. I know, I know. I’m encroaching on his spot, but he’s not using it anymore, so I set up shop here.”

This did get a response, from both Max and the ghost. They both turned their heads to listen, Max much longer than the ghost, Elmer.

“Elmer.” Max said, “Look at me. I know you can hear me. I saw you look over.”

The other vender rolled his eyes, clicked his tongs in irritation and got back to work. Elmer glanced up, his eyes meeting Max’s. Then he looked down, back at the street. A breath later the ghost’s eyes widened.

“You can see me? Can you hear me?” Elmer said rushed and watery. His voice sounded like speaking through a wet sponge into a megaphone.

Max smiled, “I can. This is new to me. I only just realized I could see the dead. I mean, I knew I could, but you are the first I realized were dead. If that makes sense.”

“Not at all.” Elmer twisted his hands and bent over. He pantomimed starting a fire, flipping some meat, stirring some liquid, “I can serve you up a nice meal if you give me a few minutes. Seems I started late today.”

What? Max thought in recoil. Elmer continued to cook, his ghost hands mixing and chopping nothing, “You’re dead, Elmer. You can’t feed me. I’m sorry.”

This got the other vender’s attention, but Max was too focused on the dead to look over. Elmer trembled once before freezing. A moment later he relaxed and continued cooking.

“Elmer, talk to me. Look at what you are doing. You are stirring air, not soup.”

The ghost trembled and froze again. He slowly tilted his head up, away from his grill. Dead eyes met Max’s, ones full of sorrow and regret. They gnawed at the air, chilling the hot street of flaming stoves. Elmer’s nose began to bleed, along with his skin turning dark purple.

“What- What is happening?” The dead vender asked, his hands trembling as he touched his bloody mouth.

“You’re dead. You just didn’t realize it yet. It’s okay. I’ve met Peneil, he’ll take good care of you.” Max said calmly and on the verge of heartbreak, “Just let it happen. The pain has already passed.”

Max had never once been pious during his time on Nava. He had spoken to multiple Gods at this point, but never truly said a prayer. Not in the way that mattered, at least. In this situation, however, he did.

Peneil, I don’t know if you can actually hear prayers, or if you are still… unwell. But please look over this man, I don’t want to be a liar.

Elmer continued to wither. Long regrets began to fade, his ethereal body began to morph. Without a soul, without life, a ghost didn’t have long to live. Those who held issue in their lives could grasp the land of the living for a while, but all eventually had to fade like all things do.

A black star made up of millions of grains of ash formed just above Elmer’s stomach. The star spun and condensed, pulling at Elmer’s ghostly form into itself. It spun for a moment before all of the dead man was a void, a husk, a simple remembrance. The ash disappeared along with Elmer, leaving the street empty.

Except for the neighboring vender asking Max rapid fire questions about Peneil.

Max ignored the man and teleported back into the inn, back to his friends. He crashed on to his bed, hugging Emi in the process. She groaned but accepted her fate rather fast as he transferred his memories to her. As the memories faded the little monster shuddered with unease.

Max felt about the same. Maybe a bit more sick and scared, however.

Celenia whispered something to the others before sitting down on the bed as well. She leaned into Max and Emi, a gentle reminder that she was there, that she cared. Whether Max would tell her about what just happened or not was completely up to him. She wasn’t even sure if she’d understand it, but she would listen and that was all that mattered.

At some point, hours later judging by the nearly silent streets, Max finally felt the need to talk. He had thought about the day in its entirety and what it meant moving forward. Truthfully, he was scared and off handedly wondered if he should resend his gift back to the God of Death.

He decided not to, that he could do more good with the curse rather than being selfish for self-comfort

“I don’t know who is alive. I didn’t noticed that some of the people on the streets were dead, I thought they were just being ignored.” Max whispered.

Alia and Isaac had long since returned to their own rooms, both confused but knowing they shouldn’t pry. Only Celenia and Emi remained. The Elf somewhat understood what Max’s gift was from Peneil but didn’t fully grasp what it meant. Emi was a similar case, but she shared a part of Max, meaning she understood what her partner was feeling.

“What did the man in the apron say?” Celenia tenderly asked.

“He wanted to sell me food. He didn’t realize he was dead. At least, not fully. When I said as much, wounds started to appear, then he started to panic a bit. I tried to comfort him in his last moments, but… I’m not sure if I helped. I’m not sure if talking to him was the right thing to do. What if he doesn’t make it to the afterlife? What if he was marked and now can’t move on?”

“I know that’s not the case. I can feel that’s not the case. You can’t think like that.”

Celenia’s words were sweet lies. She didn’t know if Max was right or wrong, but she said as much to ease her boyfriend. It was obvious he was distressed and right now he needed comfort.

She continued, “What happened to him?”

“He just… vanished. In a showing of black dust and distant stars…”

“He passed on then. You did good.”

“You don’t know that.” Max challenged.

Celenia nodded, “Maybe so, but you can’t think he didn’t. That will only ruin you from the inside.”

A knock sounded early the next morning. Max hadn’t really slept as his mind continued to wonder. He slowly got up, careful not to wake the Elf or little monster and gently cracked open the door. Isaac stood tall, his eyes tired, however.

“Can we talk?” The immortal asked.

Max didn’t reply but nodded before slipping through the door. The two men walked down to the inn’s common room. It was part tavern, something most inns mimicked, but this one’s was particularly large. Tourists liked to spend money on drink. They sat at a table in the corner, alone.

“Max, I know we’ve only just met, but I think I have some advice – if you’d like to hear it, that is.”

Max studied Vast Empire’s creator for a long minute before nodding to continue.

With a deep breath Isaac explained, “I’ve been imprisoned for a long while. In that time I’ve been through many different… let’s call them phases. You briefly know my history with a few certain Gods, but what I didn’t tell you about was my relationship after. At least not really.

“At first, I resented them. The first fifty or so years locked behind torturous magical iron bars were the worst years of my life. I prayed every day for Ofes’s enemies to smite her down and come to collect me. I did the same for Ikzag, but those prayers were… mundane in nature. Most everyone would be perfectly fine with Ikzag and a few others to die, so those prayers were lost in the tide of similar thoughts.

“The fifty years after that I pleaded with the Gods. I begged for forgiveness even though I had no idea what I was begging to be forgiven for. Every God I sent multiple prayers to every day, even the less savory few. Even Ofes. I never got a response.

“The fifty after that I began to resent my captors. The Gods took a back-foot in my mind, they just weren’t important anymore. I hated Salae, I hated the guards. I made plans to kill those who harmed me the most, those who tormented me the hardest. Nothing ever came of it, other than a fantasy that got me through the day.

“The next hundred or so years were my… dead years. I didn’t speak, I didn’t drink, eat, move, breathe. I simply existed as an [Immortal] Immortal. I lived and died every day, multiple times a day. I was dying of thirst, of hunger, of rats chewing my organs, every few hours. I would resurrect and live the pain over and over again. It was agony, but in those years I realized something.

“I realized that I just didn’t care anymore. Not the way I once did, at least. Don’t get me wrong, if I had a shot at Ofes and Ikzag I would take it, even if it meant another eternity of pain and suffering. Before, back before everything was lost to me, back when I had a family, I had a sister, I had a village, I cared. I cared about most everything.

“That was why I became a glorified [Priest]. I wanted to help those who needed it the most. Sure, I followed the family tradition, but I thought I could really make a difference. I did, or at least, I hope I did. Those days before everything… died, I helped people find themselves. I helped people who were lost.

“The years after that were filled with a lot of thinking. I thought through nearly every scenario after being granted freedom- what my next move would be. Who I would contact, who I would become. Albeit I never expected a Lost Lord breaking me out along with a Salaen princess, but here we are.

“Now, I’ve been thinking these last few days, ever since we became bound to each other. I thought that since we were connected I would be spending a lot of time without thinking. As it turns out, I was correct. But last night, after seeing you speaking of the dead, seeing invisible men, having a conversation with a street, I realized who I wanted to be.

“Well, that isn’t quite right. I don’t know who I want to be, but I do know that I can still help people. I thought I didn’t care, but I was wrong. After my bones had been broken countless times, regrown from nothing more times than I care to admit, I felt something deep inside, last night. I want to be like you.

“I saw you go out of your way in town yesterday. You tried to help multiple people multiple times. You saw the dead and didn’t run in fear. You spoke to him, you communed with him. For the first time in… I don’t know how many years, I didn’t want to die. I realized I want to live. That I still have things to do on this world. So, I thank you Max. For setting me free physically and metaphorically.

“In conclusion, whatever you are feeling right now. Whatever scared, uneasy feeling that is effecting you deep inside, just know that it is a phase. It took me many years, but eventually everything comes together. Seeing the dead, or whatever you realized last night, may seem like a curse, but I don’t think it is.”

Isaac laughed, “I guess I don’t see immortality as a curse either, for that matter. I used to, but… I need to have faith that something good will come out of it… Right? How else could I face those who died in my stead?”

Max smiled slightly, “Celenia said something similar last night… You both are probably right; I just need to adjust to what my life is becoming. Pulled from my home world, pushed into a chess board of the Gods, savior of some, killer of others, and now, seer of the dead. Herald of the dead, even.”

“Herald of the dead sounds cool, so you’ve got that going for you.” Isaac said with a distant smile.

Even though it was a rather small and inappropriate joke, Max laughed.