Basic senses ebb into and out of focus as Lucas begins to wake. At best, they provide hazy information on the condition of his body and the environment, but nothing too defined. It all feels like a dream. In reality, Lucas is just barely conscious. When muscle control becomes refined enough to allow movement, he gradually opens his eyes. There is nothing to see. His vision is so blurry that he might as well be blind. He notices also that wherever he is, it is completely silent. Whether or not this is due to a lack of hearing, he does not know. All that can be known is that he lies horizontally and face up.

He takes a deep breath, interrupted by sudden pain. The muscles in his chest ache vigorously as his lungs inflate, making him wince. What’s more, the spike in sensation sends his brain into a spin and provokes his stomach to eject its contents. He turns on his side to vomit, which moves more of his body’s sore muscles. Every fiber screams. This prompts a vocal response from Lucas, who yells a sort of groan with every bit of air he recently took in. The only indications he has of its volume are the vibrations in his skull and the sudden opening of a door nearby. He notes a silhouette approaching him before the room goes dark and his senses leave him once again.

# (scene break) #

Lucas shifts from unconsciousness to consciousness as though waking from sleep rather than a coma. He lifts his tired eyelids to see a white ceiling covered in a crisp golden light. Streaks of soft shadow wave across it. When he looks around, it can be seen that all four walls look this way. There is a window to his left through which sunlight shines. A yellow curtain in front of it filters the light and bathes the room in that soft aura.

It is immediately apparent that, among other things, Lucas is in a bed with the sheets beneath him. All senses have returned to normalcy. He takes a deep breath, listens to himself inhale. He feels a cool, damp towel resting on his forehead. Any previous muscle pain has subsided, leaving only some tension and light soreness.

There is nothing in the room but the bed, a nightstand next to it, and a wooden chair next to that. He removes the towel from his head, sits up, and looks around. The floor is brown wood and the sheets of the bed are white. Bandages are wrapped around both of his forearms. There’s a door on the other end of the wall to his right. On the nightstand, a small ring of water droplets. Lucas’s mind drinks up every detail available to be absorbed.

Suddenly, a vision of the past flashes through his mind. He sees unmoving images of a shadowed alleyway. In the dim light, he recalls seeing and fighting with a man who looked frighteningly similar to him. The distress of the memory forces him to consider it a hallucinatory remnant of his previous dream-like state.

His next thoughts are of Homer: where he and his family are, whether or not they’re safe. Lucas begins moving his legs towards the edge of the bed, but stops suddenly when the only door in the room begins to open. It progresses into the room in such a way that Lucas can’t see who is on the other side until they walk farther in. All of his movements cease as a figure emerges. Lucas finds himself hoping that Wren appears. That prospect is thrown away when a man he can’t recall seeing before comes into view.

The man is tall, thin, has brown skin, carries a glass of ice-water, and has a slightly depressed demeanor. His age must be twenty-two or twenty-three. By immediate evaluation, Lucas concludes that this person poses no threat, he can easily take him in a fight. Despite this, the look on Lucas’s face likely gives away his cautious disposition.

“You’re safe.” The man softly raises his empty hand in a gesture of nonaggression as he walks forward. Once in front of the bed, he slowly draws the nearby chair to take a seat. He extends the glass of water to Lucas. “My name is Alfred.”

Lucas moves so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and takes the glass from Alfred. He looks into the water and ice, trying to get his thoughts in order so that he can ask productive questions. Alfred continues.

“Wren and the Smiths are downstairs.” This makes Lucas raise his eyes to the man in front of him. “You can see them in a moment. I have a few questions first.”

Lucas sets the glass of water on the nightstand and looks ahead at Alfred. The current situation has yet to fully register in his mind, but the man’s demeanor and way of speaking induce a calm atmosphere. Lucas gives Alfred his attention.

“You might recall getting into a scuffle in an alleyway earlier. Were you injured anywhere?” Alfred's eyes slightly narrow in examination.

Lucas raises his left arm and runs his right hand over the bandages. “I was cut by a knife right around here. That’s all, I think.” He shifts his attention to the bandages on his right arm. “I don’t remember anything here.”

“Alright." Alfred points to the cup on the nightstand. "There is ice-water in that glass. Take a sip.” When Lucas takes the glass from the nightstand, Alfred continues. “And tell me how it tastes.”

Lucas takes a moment to drink. While he was only asked to take a sip, the small amount makes him realize just how thirsty he is. He takes half of the glass before stopping to respond.

“It's a bit tangy. Like a hint of lemon.” He continues drinking.

“Ok. We’re almost done here. You’re partner, Wren; what is her family name?”

Lucas thinks back to the briefing in the capital. “...Atkinson. Why —”

“Good.” Alfred stands up and moves the chair back to its previous position next to the nightstand. He gives Lucas some room before making a final request. “Last thing. Stand on one leg.”

In response, Lucas stands and raises his right leg with a questioning look on his face. For around twenty seconds, he stands in silence. Then Alfred begins counting under his breath starting from twenty-one. When he gets to thirty, he tells Lucas to let his right leg down.

“You can remove the bandages from your right arm; they were an attempt to test your memory. Overall, you seem fine. No loss of taste or balance either.” He puts his hand out to take the empty glass. With it in hand, he turns, motions for Lucas to follow, and begins walking out of the room. “The knife Homer cut you with was coated with quite a nasty poison. Had I been walking down another street or gotten to you any later, you would be dead.”

As Lucas unwraps his right forearm, he recalls the hazy moments just before losing consciousness in the alley. The silhouette of the person who approached him back then seems to match Alfred’s figure.

“And then you just happened to collapse behind my mentor’s laboratory, so you’re lucky on two counts.”

They proceed down a set of stairs into a larger room. Before he fully enters, Lucas notes all of the desks, cabinets, and instruments of glass and metal. They’re well kept and neatly arranged along the walls. The whole scene is a much more impressive version of the doctor’s house in Drepano.

Just before Lucas can ask Alfred where Wren and the Smiths are, his question is indirectly answered. Alfred reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns to his right.

“He’s up and well.” He says, motioning in such a way to present Lucas to whoever else is in the room.

This is when Lucas also fully descends the steps and can see around the wall. Wren, Homer, and a woman and child stand waiting to see him. They wear differing expressions, ranging from Wren’s relief, to Homer’s anxiety and fear. Faye looks over Lucas as though to study him. The child Jessica is, as a child would be, not particularly invested in the situation.

Lucas’s initial emotion is one of relief. The sight of Homer and his family alive and well wipes away some of the worst case scenarios that were previously running through his mind. He lets them know that he’s happy to see them safe. Then, he directs his attention to Wren.

“How long has it been?”

“Two days. It’s the sixth of May.”

At first, Lucas is taken aback by the amount of time he has spent unconscious, but he gets over it shortly. His interest turns to what the future will hold. In order to pursue his goal of liberating the Smiths from danger, he needs a lay of the land, so to speak.

“So what’s happened?” He asks. “Why aren’t they on a boat to Thessaloniki?”

“There are none.” Wren sighs and looks off to a corner of the room. A sliver of relief is still evident in her face. “Almost all transportation to and from Athens has been halted.”

For a moment, Lucas remains silent and allows the new information to sink in. A map of the conditions surrounding him begins to take shape. He looks over at Homer and his family and forces a reassuring look to show on his face.

“We’ll think of some way to get you to safety.” Then, he turns to Alfred who has since walked across the room and stands with a desk directly behind him. “You live here, so I’m assuming you know the city well. Can you tell me everything you know about this travel hold?”

“Yes.” Alfred’s answer is simple and assured. The inflection in his voice and his action of dipping his hand into a small burlap bag on the desk behind him conveys that he intends to shift the course of the conversation. “And I’m sure there’s a way for you to get them out of the city. But we need to talk about this first.”

From the bag, he pulls out a small object and presents it to Lucas. Upon closer inspection, the object resembles a fig. But this resemblance is only in shape and size. In color and visual texture, this fruit differs. Its skin is wrinkled and displays a translucent water-color blend of green and blue that allows the stripy flesh beneath to show through. Alfred goes on:

“What you and Wren have been chasing after is this exceptionally rare fruit. It is not indigenous to any region in Aegea. In fact, attempts to cultivate here have all failed. Based on its assumed land of origin and its resemblance to familiar figs, we alchemists call it the ‘Sicilian Palm’.”