If Symeon had to pick one word to describe the fellow newly emerged from the crystal, that word would be ‘vacant’. The eyes were unfocused, the jaw slack, his whole body swaying limply in the ocean breeze. The experience was all too familiar. The fellow was even wearing a white robe, currently open to reveal, yes, white boxer briefs. He had flawlessly youthful skin, was shorter than Symeon, and utterly bald. His pudgy, unlined face lacked even eyebrows. Symeon paused in surprise, precariously balanced on the crystal lid, while the odd man utterly failed to react in any way.

Symeon carefully stepped back, regarding with passing satisfaction the viscous, milky splatters on the sand radiating from Flappy’s battered form. Moving around to the foot of the crystal, he stepped in direct line of sight of the other man. The only movement from the strangers was a long, slow blink, an uneven offering that started with the right eye, with several seconds before the left eye caught up.

“Hey. Buddy. Are ya alright?” The query generated no discernible response. After a few moments, Symeon nervously tried a low whistle, glancing about for unwanted Imp attention. The whistle didn’t draw any result from the newly emerged man. Symeon sheathed his knife, and secured his box in the pocket on the robe.

Before truly focusing his full attention on the fellow, Symeon gingerly reached out with his foot to lift the near end of the fallen lid for a clearer look at Flappy. The concept of survival included a rather strong compulsion to ensure fallen foes were truly fallen, and Flappy had tried to play dead once already. One of Flappy’s chitinous legs was pulverized, the other fractured, and the bulk of the creature generally squashed. It appeared the knife-wound Symeon had inflicted had split wide open under Symeon’s stomping barrage and was the source of the creamy splatter polluting the sand. Additionally, there was a distinctly fecal smell now added to the overall stench of the area. Symeon wasn’t sure where exactly an oversized predatory heart would excrete waste from, and swiftly banished the thought before the information might come to him involuntarily.

It seemed a safe bet that Flappy would flap no more. Flappy’s ruined remains could potentially draw attention, though. The scavengers that had been worrying at that stinking corpse further up the beach might return from whatever they did when there wasn’t a ruined Shambler to feast upon.

Symeon felt a rising panic, an urge to do something, anything, and pushed it down. Instead, he stopped to consider the situation. In front of him was a fellow human being, apparently helpless. Meanwhile, it was all too likely the surrounding area or even the ocean itself concealed a legion of ravenous Imps. It was clearly in Symeon’s interest to be well away, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave this poor stunned man to be devoured. Symeon was unsure of his own strength, but he was willing to try to carry the chubby fellow away to safety.

That left the issue of the other crystals. The orange sun created dazzling refractions on their surfaces, but now he had the time and perception to examine them it was clear each had a silhouette within. Those shadows were man-sized, yet utterly unmoving. Symeon’s mouth drew into a frustrated rictus as he considered this. If there were more people in these Manifest Chrysalises (and he cursed internally at yet another name with no definition), if those people emerged as helpless as this other man, Symeon couldn’t move them all. Here and now he could help one person, and that assumed he could handle the man’s weight. A course of action, then. Get the short fellow away from the immediate threat, and see if there was some way to cure his insensate state. Then, recruit him to help solve the mystery of these remaining crystals, and resolve the contents within. Perhaps find an answer as to why they were differently named from the previously identified Branded Chrysalis he had evidently emerged from.

“Buddy? What’s yer name?” Again, this drew no response. “Look, we need to be anywhere but here right now. I’m gonna try to pick ya up, okay? Just… I dunno, I’d say go limp but… yeah.”

With a sigh, he gently lifted the slack form over his shoulders, using the fellow’s limbs to help secure the weight. Symeon nearly stumbled at first, finding the fellow an unexpectedly light burden. After adjusting for the ease of the weight he set a brisk pace away from the water. The limp body he carried was blocking a fair range of his field of vision, so an abundance of caution had him stopping regularly to turn and check his blind spots for threats as he moved deeper inland. Every step gave growing relief as he gained distance from the Imp-haunted beach. Bleached sands gave way to lush grass on gentle slopes, with stands of trees both along the nearby river and beyond the grassy fields. Symeon pushed for many minutes at a grueling pace, until he was near the trees at the river’s edge. There, as gently as he was able, he laid the insensate man down on his side in the shade. Task completed, he flopped onto the grass himself.

Minutes passed with only the gentle wash of the river flow to disturb the quiet while Symeon laid there catching his breath. Once he had regained his wind he looked over at the fellow, who was unmoving but for gentle breathing. “Hey. Hey, anyone at home?”

Was that a twitch of the hand?

Symeon moved closer, getting to his knees beside the recumbent form, and pressed his index finger gently into the man’s palm. “Do ya feel this? Move your fingers.” This elicited more movement, stronger this time. “There we go! Keep wigglin’ man, ya got this!”

It was strange, seeing a person go from a drooling vegetable to consciousness over the course of minutes. Moreso because there was a very visible shift to sudden awareness, where the man went from slow, weak movements to sitting up with wild eyes and a shouted “WHAT?!”

The man’s hands flew to cover his mouth, and as quickly were brought up to his eyeline with a quieter “What?!”

At this point Symeon had gotten to his feet, and taken several steps back to give the fellow some room. “Ya doing okay there?”

“Am I okay? Am I okay!?” The man scrambled to his feet, howling with glee. “I’m FANTASTIC! We did it! WOOOOOO!” Symeon went wide-eyed at the loud, celebratory hoot, waving his hands as if to ward off the sound while looking around for anything that might be drawn by the noise. The fellow himself didn’t seem to notice any of this, too busy with a clumsy victory dance where at any moment it looked like he might tumble over his own feet. “We did it! Oh Angtosid, you wicked old curmudgeon, I told you! It was all going to work out, I said! It was all going to be worthwhile, I said! AND HERE WE ARE!” At this point he leapt high into the air with surprising dexterity and impressive altitude. The descent was not nearly so graceful. Symeon flinched as the fellow completely failed to take any action to secure his landing, instead falling as if he was going to splash safely in a pool of water. The crumpled heap of his impact was evidence of his error in judgement.

“Wow. That musta hurt.” Symeon came over and extended his hand. “Ya think ya can walk that one off?”

The fallen man stared in confusion at Symeon’s hand, then gingerly reached out to clasp it. Symeon helped pull him upright. “Oh my! Thank you dear Angtosid. That was most unexpected! Quite a surplus of Presence hereabouts, isn’t there? Let us away to somewhere more conducive to stretching our wings.”

“Uh… well, there’s a lot to unpack there.” Symeon counted off on his fingers as he spoke. “One, neither of us has wings. I think? Two, what do ya mean by a surplus of ‘Presence’? Three, I’m fairly sure my name isn’t Angtosid.”

The man stared at Symeon for a moment, and then took a step back. “Oh, I’m most dreadfully sorry. You’re right, of course. Your lines are nothing like Angrosid’s. Alas! Where are my manners?” The fellow struck a pose that was clearly intended to be heroic. Sadly, it was rendered awkward by his clumsiness causing the robe to flap open, revealing a physique that would be charitably described as ‘doughy’ in both complexion and tone. “My friend, you stand amazed in the presence of Istroama Claimant! Conjuror of light and time, and, yes, the savior of Alsualsu! Indeed, savior all of sentience! Please, remain calm, I know it’s a lot to take in all at once.”

At this point Symeon had noticed that Istroama’s words didn’t match the movements of his mouth. Very strange, and Symeon wasn’t sure what to make of it. Pursuit of that issue was sidelined as Istroama fell to his knees with a shocked cry. Symeon’s gaze flicked back and forth, looking for the source of Istroama’s distress.

“The plane of chaos, the orb of order, the cords! It’s all here!” Istroama was gesturing wildly at the empty space in front of him.

“Uh… is it? I don’t see anythin’ at all.”

“You don’t see this!?” Istroama got back to his feet, but stumbled as he tried to come over to Symeon. “Oh, that’s an inconvenience. I can’t quite...” and with this Istroama was shifting around from side to side, as if sidestepping around a barrier, “it’s quite persistent, isn’t it?”

“Whew buddy! Yer just a handful, aren’t ya? Slow it down a bit. Seriously, yer seein’ somethin’ I’m not. Are ya gonna be okay?” The answer to this was Istroama tripping over his own feet. Symeon was close enough to catch the man in his arms. As he did, the area was shaded in a blue hue from something behind him. He turned to face it as he helped steady Istroama.

Looming near and askew was a panel of blue, though this one had the name Istroama Claimant in place of Symeon. As he helped the man upright the blue field straightened with him.

“Well will ya look at that? Yeah, I have one of those too. Just think about it going away for a moment, and… yeah, that’s the stuff.” The blue screen collapsed in utter silence, taking the blue aura with it. “It’s somethin’, isn’t it? Comes right back up if ya want it. I figure if nothin’ else it might be handy at night.”

“Remarkable. It looks so much like the Pax Manifest. You say you have one too, friend…?” Istroama paused with a slight nod of the head.

“Oh! Right. I’m Symeon, allegedly. Symeon is what’s written on this here box, I think the box is mine, but I’m not totally sold on the idea.”

“Then well met, Symeon Allegedly!”

“Yeah, no, it’s just Symeon, not… ya know what? That’s fine. Allegedly. Ha! That’s actually pretty funny. Let’s go with that. Yeah, so. Blue screen. That’s somethin’ else, ain’t it?” Symeon’s face grew grim as he proceeded. “It’s not important right now, though. I woke up with a whole lotta nothing in place of actual memories, I keep getting weird ideas outta nowhere, there was this tentacle monster I stomped, and then I carried ya up here to get away from those Imps on the beach. What I’m sayin’ is this has already been a long day and I don’t know if it’s even noon yet. Any idea what’s goin’ on here?”

Istroama stood up straight, hands on his hips. “Well, certainly, friend Symeon. You are most wise to consult with me on the matter! It just so happens that I ended the world.”