Isla shut the back door behind her, untying and unceremoniously dropping her muddy boots on the rack they inhabited when she wasn’t outside gardening. As she tromped into the kitchen and dining area of her modest home, she rather surprisingly found a different pair of muddy boots occupying her table. Even more surprising was the occupant of the boots— an absolutely filthy teen boy. Standing. On her table. They shared a very special moment of utter confusion before Isla spoke up. “Get down.” The boy dropped into a crouch, furiously looking around the room. While still standing. On her table. He stood up slowly, confused as ever, his mouth flapping like a fish’s. “I— uh— what?” “Get off my table.” His cheeks flushed underneath the layer of whatever sludgy atrocity covered him. With more than a little awkwardness he hopped down to the floor, leaving two perfect sets of his boots’ soles cemented to her kitchen table. It did not escape Isla’s notice that there were no footprints leading to the table, nor did she spot him when she opened the back door coming in, which she very much should have. The boy fidgeted nervously as she observed all of this. Isla sighed. “Let’s go get you hosed off.” After passing off the hose to the boy (set on its strongest jet) Isla stepped back inside to address the footprint problem. Which, by the way, reeked to high hell. Suppressing her gag reflex as much as she could, Isla swiftly cleaner-nuked the gunk before snatching a couple beat-up towels to sacrifice to the kid's cleanliness. Opening the back door treated her to yet more interesting sights: one, the boy attempting to wash off a spot on his back he couldn't quite reach, and two, an honest-to-God set of half-plate armor sitting sparkling clean under the sun, complete with an empty sword scabbard and clean(ish) boots. Isla stopped the boy from dislocating his own shoulder and offered him the towels, which he gratefully accepted. She eyed the plain underclothes he was squeezing dry. He probably doesn't have any weapons concealed in there. If he did, he'd have done something with them by now. Satisfied with his efforts, Isla invited him inside— properly, this time. No sense in skimping on hospitality. Not like she had anything else to do, being a retired businesswoman well past her prime. "Is a BLT okay with you? I was about to have lunch." "Hm? Oh— um— yes. Thank you." His eyes were flicking around the house, almost in disbelief, as he sat down at the pristine kitchen table. Isla was tossing the bacon into the pan when he finally strung a coherent sentence together. "Uhm... ma'am... would you mind telling me where you— I mean we— are?" She paused. "... Castle Rock, Colorado. Not far from Denver." His face was painted over by shock. "Oh... Colorado. Hah." Isla kept one eye on the tomatoes she was slicing and another eye firmly on him. Time to pry. "I know you kind of just appeared in my kitchen, but why is Colorado so surprising in particular?" He flushed. Awkward bean. "I— uh— I don't think... you would believe me... if I told you." She snorted. "If you say lines like that then I'm inclined to try. Shoot." It'd take a lot to surprise me, all things considered. "Well... an hour ago I was fighting a swamp hag on Achnaea. Um— not on Earth, Achnaea's a different world." Isla turned the bacon over. Hmm. Hmm. Isla was not... unaware of the fantasies running rampant through the internet, but the idea that such fantasy was possible was, of course, rather novel to her. Let’s start over. "What's your name, kid? I'm Isla." "Ah— I'm Ben. Nice to meet you." At least he's more comfortable with the situation, now that the elephant in the room is being addressed. This, rather notably, does not help me, though. "Okay Ben, where are you from? Originally, not an hour ago. Feel free to expand on that tidbit while you're at it." Isla put the toast on. Ben sat up a little straighter. "Yeah— yes, all right. Well, I was born and raised in Springfield, Ohio. Lived there all my life until... until one day I didn't. I woke up on Achnaea around a year ago, ended up joining an adventuring group a few months ago, and... explored the frontier with them. We um— we kill monsters for money, like for bounties, and— and also can... use magic." He trailed off at the end, obviously not confident in getting her to suspend her disbelief that far. "Two questions, Ben: what's your last name, and care to prove that magic part?" "Staffeld, and... I don't think I can. I know a few simple... ah... cantrips, but I don't feel access to my mana right now," Ben answered with a cringe. Well, I can still check one of those things. Isla plopped the bacon on some paper towels and pulled out her phone for a quick search. The third entry down was indeed a small article on the disappearance of one Ben Staffeld, from Springfield, Ohio. Also dated a year ago with a matching photo. Sixteen years old at the time... jeez. Isla finished assembling the BLT's with a finesse granted by practice. “I don’t know if I can fully believe the magic and monsters part just yet, Ben, but I’ll accept the other world business for now since you did make a rather... abrupt appearance in my home,” Isla said, setting down a plate in front of Ben and another for herself. “Where you were before now doesn’t matter so much as what you plan to do next, however.” “I guess not.” Ben’s gaze slid off into the distance. “I could contact my family... should contact them...” Isla paused in munching on her sandwich. “Do you have a way of knowing whether or not you’re going to get zapped away again?” His brow furrowed. “No, I really don’t. My arrival in Achnaea wasn’t ever explained, though a couple of us in the party thought it might be due to one of the gods. Lara— our cleric— in particular...” Ben twisted his lips worriedly. No use in dancing around the issue, kiddo. “Something wrong?” “Ah— it’s just— my party was in trouble when I... showed up here. Like I said before, we were fighting a swamp hag, which we weren’t prepared for. We were expecting a troll, not a spell casting enemy. It ambushed us... We were getting beaten back, badly, and I’d just lost my sword to one of her spells, and... the last thing I saw was the hag turning on Lara.” Ben blinked rapidly. “... And you don’t have a way of knowing what happened. Hmm. Well, I don’t have much advice for you, other than at least telling your parents you're okay. In the meantime I’ll help you get on your feet much as I can.” Isla polished off her sandwich and threw away the paper plate. “You can have the guest room, first on the right down the hallway. The guest bathroom is stocked for when you take a shower once you’re done with that sandwich.” Isla trotted off towards her bedroom. “I'll get you some spare clothes, but you’re going to have to wait til tomorrow for underwear,” she called back. The rest of the afternoon was spent in surprising peace. Surprising to Ben, at least. He found Isla’s taste in TV shows and books to be enjoyable. Although watching TV was... nostalgic. Really nostalgic. That night his thoughts found him again in bed. He’d held back on what he’d told Isla, how he’d been losing faith in the group long before that fateful fight. Recent rumors of a new Monster King were being corroborated by a rise in evil things crawling around. His group had been pressed by the steeply increasing difficulty of their missions, and Ben had been the one advocating for their troupe of four to lay low for a while, at least until stronger adventuring parties could reach their piece of frontier. They were tired and beaten down when they’d caught wind of a young troll terrorizing a nearby village. Thinking they had an easy fight for once— they were experienced in fighting the smaller varieties of trolls— they quickly found themselves locked in combat with a hag, which had been shapeshifting into a trollish thing for her outings to the village. Ben could still feel the weakness in his legs, the failure in his heart, as he watched the hag face Lara. Arvor, their tank, had been knocked off his feet by the same blast of mud and wind that whipped Ben’s sword out of his hand, and Thyra had just started forming her next cast of fireball. Nothing stood between the hag and Lara in that moment. And Ben knew that given another moment, he wouldn’t have been an exception. Despite the hour he spent in a staring contest with the ceiling, Ben did get some good sleep that night; there’s nothing quite like a real mattress and a very, very tiring day. He helped Isla in the garden the next morning. He admired both her collection of vegetables— the lettuce and tomato on the BLT’s had come from her backyard— and the warm strength in her hands as she cared for the plants. She had tan skin weathered by years of adventurous vacations, with dark hair and gray eyes. She reminded Ben of his mom, only a lot more... steely. Yeah, steely was a word. Ben was hefting the last rectangular hay bale into place on Isla’s fall lettuce patch when she called for an early lunch. He was treated to another scrutinizing over club sandwiches. "Have you decided on what you need to do next?" Ben twitched. "Yeah... I need to let my family know I'm okay, no matter how long I'm here. I can leave it vague as long as they know it's me." Isla nodded in approval. "Practical. Do you still not have any clue about whether or not you're here for good?" She leveled another look at him. "... Yes. I haven't... remembered or noticed anything that would be useful." Ben grasped for another topic. "Can I ask why you've been helping me so much? I mean, I don't really see why you would." She held his gaze for a beat, expressionless. "I don't really see why I wouldn't." Oof. "Ah, um... thanks." "Don't worry about it. I've got to go get you some more amenities, and until you break the news to your parents— and possibly the world— you probably should stay at the house. Can I trust that you'll behave yourself while I’m gone?" Ben blushed a little at that. He wasn't a kid... "Yes, I'll be fine." "All right. I'll be back in two hours or so." Ben tried to be distracted for a while longer, but neither books nor the gods-blessed TV could save him from the niggling need to do something about his family. He found out that staring at a blank page of printer paper didn't help either. He sighed, glancing around Isla's study. It was a small bedroom that pretended to be a study, but it had the requisite bookshelves, desk, and computer. That last one had been at the back of his mind for some time now. He turned it on, grateful for the lack of a password. He had to know how they were doing without him. He quickly navigated to social media, finding his mom's page first. The last post was from eight months ago. It was about raising awareness for Ben's disappearance, and seemed to be one in a long line of similar posts, before they just... stopped. That did not feel great. Ben moved on to his elder sister's page. She was much more active, and her most recent post was from the day before, featuring a two-month-old infant named Zander. Apparently her fiance had stuck around, and they now had a kid. Ben was an uncle. Wow. But... Zander? Really, Ally? Ben snickered. He was an uncle and he didn't even know it until a minute ago. If he were to seriously doubt his presence on Earth, this would be why. He continued scrolling through Ally's timeline, past more cute baby photos and date night selfies, until he reached one from three weeks ago about himself. It was a memorial post honoring the anniversary of Ben's disappearance. It was disturbingly... sweet. I really did not have her pegged as the type to write this stuff. Ben blinked a couple times. This was a lot more difficult than he thought it was going to be, and he had already set the bar pretty high in his mind. Thankfully the next post down showed a photo of his mom, dad, and sister together, and they all seemed to be doing well. Ben erased the history and turned the computer off. He took his piece of paper and a pen out to the back porch, where he sat at a little glass and metal table. For a moment Ben just enjoyed being there. The August heat washed over him— August, not ‘Eight-moon’— as he looked out to the mountains in the distance. There were no monsters of the magical kind roaming those hills, and the statistical probability of someone in the world being eaten alive at that very second was actually negligible. There was a freezer in the house behind him that had ice cream in it. All was well. And his family... was doing fine. Ben sat at the table for a long while before he began to write. Isla deposited the groceries in the trunk before sliding in and and starting the car. Having a teenage boy in the house depleted her foodstuffs faster than she had expected. After all, she’d never gotten married or had children. Taking care of Ben was a bit of a learning experience. It’s not so bad. He’s a nice kid. I’m glad gardening this morning seemed to take his mind off of things for a spell— if even half of what he said is true, which it appears to be, then he’s having an awfully rough time right now— but he does need to pick himself up and make some tough decisions. She cast a glance at the front passenger seat, where she’d put Ben’s new wardrobe. It just so happened to include a set of teddy bear boxers that she definitely grabbed because they were the only ones, and not because she thought it was amusing. If these don’t cheer him up, ice cream on the back porch solves most things. That evening Isla made tacos while Ben did his best to help. Arvor and Lara did most of the cooking on their trips, but Ben knew how to use a knife. It’s just that he was usually trying to stab something, not dice it. Dinner discussion topics centered around Isla’s life. Where she’d worked, where she’d lived, the kinds of people she’d met. Isla indulged Ben. She had seen the envelope addressed to Ben’s parents when she got back from shopping. “You’ve been to the Alps?” “Yes. It was great hiking there, but there are still a few ski slopes here in Colorado that I’d say are better.” Isla smirked. “The company chose the Alps for that trip more or less because some of the higher ups wanted to look good. I wasn’t at the VP level yet, but I knew a couple people, so I got to go.” Ben shook his head in disbelief. “Good grief. I’m talking to a bonafide rich person.” She harrumphed. “No you are not. I quit while I was ahead, took a quiet retirement over really pushing how high I could climb the ladder.” “Why did you retire like this, then?” Ben’s thoughts went to the one-story house. It was nice, but not possible-millionaire nice. Isla knew the answer to that one already. “I got what I wanted out of that life. There wasn’t much left for me to explore, so I bowed out. I won’t pretend I don’t miss the work life every now and again, it was a lot of fun at times, but I still find retirement very agreeable.” Ben thought about that for a bit. It sounded... true, though maybe not the whole story. He figured everything about big business was more complicated than necessary. They cleaned up the tacos and moved to the back porch with ice cream. Isla only had strawberry on hand, but Ben didn’t care. It was ice cream. Isla broke the peace first. “Do you want me to send that letter tomorrow?” He nodded. “Yeah, it’s ready. Dunno if I’m ready, though.” “You’ll have to decide that soon. You don’t have to go back to them now, but you do have to start up a life again.” Can’t house you forever, kiddo, pleasant as these conversations are. Ben studied the horizon. "This kind of thing... just, relaxing and such, on Earth... was what I dreamed about those first few months in Achnaea," he sighed. “Even so, I can’t... I can’t really imagine not ever going back.” Determination rippled crossed his expression. “Leaving things as they are doesn’t feel right. My team deserves more from me.” Good. A beat passed. "I don't know if you can change what happened on that other world now, but the least you can do is figure out what you learned from it, and resolve not to make the same mistakes.” Isla looked down at her bowl. “That way, if a chance to lay some of those regrets to rest does come, you'll know what to do." She took another spoonful of ice cream. The silence stretched out comfortably. Leaves of nearby trees rattled in the wind, and the sun started to set in earnest. Ben nodded to himself. "Tackle her." "What was that?" He faced Isla. "I'd tackle the hag. Bare-handed. It'd still be better than letting Lara try to fend her off with a dagger and almost no experience in close combat. That and I don't need to be as afraid of getting hurt— gods know Arvor takes a lot of hits, I've taken hits, and that's why Lara is there. She's my teammate, she'll help me get back up." He scooped the last of his ice cream. Isla stared at him. "I didn't mean that so literally, but I suppose it works. At least you'll do the right thing the next time you have to... beat up a hag." "Yeah." Ben stood up and stretched, smiling. "I guess I—" He disappeared. Isla peered over at the pile of clothes left behind. Hmm. Hmm. She trotted over to the shed, and sure enough, the armor that was stored in there was gone, along with the faint boggy smell that accompanied it. Whatever's doing this is pretty thorough. Isla sat back down to finish her ice cream and watch the rest of the sunset. I didn't get to show him the boxers... Oh well. It was the very moment that had been on his mind for the past two days. He was covered in mud. His sword hadn’t even landed yet. In slow motion, the hag’s legs tensed for a leap. Well, he knew what to do. Time caught up to Ben as his feet left the ground. He hit the hag in midair, sending both of them tumbling through the mud. Magically enhanced claws flailed against his sides. With a fury he didn’t know he had, he blindly groped for her arm and twisted. She shrieked, shivering into a smaller form, trying to escape and recover. Ben didn’t let her. A shout came from Thyra. “Ben, move!” He hurled himself aside as a fireball blasted the hag. In her shock she didn’t have time to create fireproof skin. After a few seconds the flames died down, revealing a charcoal lump. “Good overcharge on that one,” Ben panted, not bothering to try to stand. “Not that I’m complaining, Ben, but what the fuck?” Thyra marched up to him, quickly joined by Lara and Arvor. “It was gonna get Lara.” “I mean— yeah— but—“ she spluttered. Arvor smacked Ben on the back solemnly. “Nice one.” Lara pursed her lips as she hurriedly started healing the beating Ben had taken. “Jerk.” “Moron, more like!” Thyra found her voice. “I could’ve hit it!” “Maybe. But Lara probably still would’ve been hurt badly. And we would’ve had to finish it unsupported.” Ben stood his ground. Sitting down. Thyra sighed. “Whatever. We need to get that bounty. And more. This was awful.” Arvor went to pick up the hag's remains for proof, and Lara heaved her own sigh as she finished patching up Ben. Collecting their scattered belongings, the party started for the village that had posted the request. Ben turned back to the scene of the battle for a moment. Grinning, he said, “—will.”