It was an unusually sunny day when Norman was finally released. He could feel the ocean wind on his face as he arrived at the capital. It itched from the wet air, but Norman paid no mind. After picking him up, Deras did not speak much, just a few silent nods and grunts. As they arrived, he let Norman get off the ship and left himself to handle the cargo.

Norman could not decide how to feel. It had been weeks since they last saw and his family had not seen him at all. Norman could not tell if they would scold him or welcome him in. Because of him, Orel continued and got into trouble, though there was little he could do about it.

The fair winds rustled the trees as Norman walked on the path to the house. It seemed empty, as there were no lights to be seen from the window or much noise coming from inside. He knocked on the door, yet no one answered. Testing it, Norman unlocked the door accidentally. He stepped carefully inside. It was surprisingly dark. Norman was about to call if anyone was home, but he heard something. The lights suddenly switched on, blinding him for a second.

"Welcome back, Norman!" Everyone cheered.

The whole house revealed their decorations for Norman, with everyone smiling widely from cheek to cheek. Ymir was smiling from her chair next to Tuja, and Ándras fiddled with the wine cork. Orel stood the closest, jumping from behind the door. A cake and other delicacies were ready to be served on the dinner table. Norman could not in any way have expected such a welcoming party.

"What's all this?" Norman stepped back with a nervous smile.

"It's your homecoming party!" Orel smiled.

"You shouldn't have bothered..."

Tuja walked forward from the others, passing Orel. It looked like she had something to say, but no one was sure what.

Norman felt a sense of danger as if he had walked into a bear's nest. He was ready to take all of the blame. It was his fault, after all. The only thing she could possibly compliment was that they were still alive, though having come so close to the opposite, that would probably not be anything to write home about.

Tuja watched down on Norman, who could barely glance at her.

"Do you have anything to say?" She asked.

"...I am sorry."

She looked at him with great disdain, like a mouse stuck in a corner, ready to be devoured.

"Do you know how worried I was when I heard what happened?" Tuja asked. "Do you understand?"

"...I know."

"This can't go on like this."

Norman was ready to walk out of the door.

"You need to take care of yourself." Tuja grasped Norman's hands.

"What?" Norman was shocked.

Tuja looked at Norman's hands, still wrapped in bandages all over. They were in a much worse state than Orel had told, mostly because he didn't dare to tell her how bad it was. It reminded her of a time she had to shield Orel from boiling water after he had knocked over it from the stove.

She took off her hands. "Thank you for protecting Orel."

Through her stern demeanor, Norman saw a slight smile on Tuja's face. He could not bear to watch it for too long, deciding to comply with it with a warm smile.

"Of course." Norman smiled, holding tears. "That's my duty as his teacher, after all."

Ymir walked in between the two. "You're such a mood-killer, Tuja. This was supposed to be a time of celebration!"

"Oh, right. Should we go for the cake?" Tuja turned to the kitchen.

"Or a toast?" Ándras popped the bottle open.

"Perhaps a toast." Norman agreed.

Tuja poured the bubbling yellow champagne into six glasses, one for each, yet one had to be left out for Deras, who hadn't returned yet.

Ándras was slightly worried that Tuja would have poured it all but calmed down after hearing that they would have more alcohol in Deras' stash. Everyone stood in a circle at the center of the house, holding their glasses ready. Even Ymir got on her feet for the occasion. All smiled for Norman, and he couldn't do anything other than smile back at such caring people.

"For safe travels!" Norman raised his glass.

"And fair winds!" Others repeated.

After drinking some of the wine, it was time to eat. Ymir and Tuja had made it together with the help of Orel, a chestnut mud cake with icing sugar on top. The sweet and robust chocolate flavor was not a fancy recipe, but it spoke for itself. They had prepared a batch of homemade butterscotch cookies and a salty salmon sandwich cake that made Ándras' mouth water. Deras had been brewing some mead from the start of the summer and was ready to be served. It was a small feast, meager for some but grand for such an occasion. Norman was overwhelmed by how much had been done for him. However, he didn't want to ruin the event by bursting into tears.

"Where's Deras? He would not miss a meal." Orel noticed.

"He said he would need to check the mail, so he should be here soon," Tuja said.

The sudden thumb of the door stopped the dining. Everyone turned to see that Deras had returned, holding a newspaper. What was peculiar was the surprised and flustered look on his face.

"Oh, Deras. Come. We still have some for you," Tuja called him over.

"A letter arrived in the mail." Deras snapped it from between the pages of the newspaper.

"From who?" Tuja asked.

"Emil."

The family shared their curiosity. Norman was also intrigued by how much he had heard of Orel's mysterious father.

"Bring it here." Tuja waved.

"So many different stamps..." Tuja looked at the cover.

She took a butter knife and opened the letter roughly. It was a long handwritten note that Tuja read without saying anything. Everyone waited for her, as the wife should read letters from her husband before anyone else.

"What does it say?" Orel asked.

"It's pretty long, but it says it's for all of us," Tuja said.

"Then read it out loud," Orel said.

"Could you squeeze in for me? I want to get a piece of that cake." Deras shuffled to the other side of the table.

Once Deras was seated and eating whatever was left, Tuja read the note.

"Dear family, I've been searching for clues about the surname of Eislandr from Zabad that lead me to the southwest parts of the continent, the Sturgean desert. None know the name of Eislandr, but I've heard of a famous sacred city in the middle of the desert. Father was also a traveler, so he might have also gone there. I'll write my findings on this paper and send them to you. If anyone finds this letter, please send it to my family. They are in the Gulf of Tanlen."

"I found volunteers and partners in my search, including explorers and scholars with similar goals. Aston Moers and Martin Bamford have been the most excellent help, yet they do not get along well as they come from different colleges and always argue. I and others need to separate them as they constantly fight about the most absurd things, but we can't afford to lose them. They are searching for any signs of an apparently legendary explorer, but they can't even decide his name. I think they fought like this:

"I'm telling you, Aston. It's Jiy lai Shante!" Martin said.

"Ji-hai-se. A-lard. Get it right."

"He's not from Sur, you idiot."

"No, he's from Azuma." Aston mocked.

"You waste of a Ph.D.!" Martin tried to strangle Aston.

"I already wiped my ass with yours!" Martin made a face.

"I had to stop them, not that they could cause more than bruises and a decent headache."

"We got permission to enter from the last city before the desert, as the local people used the city as a religious site and home."

"We will need to hire some guides if we ever hope to cross that desert. Fortunately, and somewhat surprisingly, going across the desert is a popular tourist and traveling attraction. I only wish they are not expensive."

"Well, they weren't cheap, but at least we got them. I would not have tried crossing the desert in a hundred years without them."

"My crew had to change from a car to some camediles, making our progress through the desert last for days. I had only heard of these creatures, but seeing them myself was fantastic. They can run with their long thin scaly legs for some speed, but they must keep walking for now. The guides warned us about local animals but said that we must primarily be concerned about our survival from the forces of nature. I was not sure at first, but after seeing a ravaged remains of a similar expedition, I took their advice at heart."

"These past few days have been exhaustingly hot, making one of us abandon the expedition. He was a young explorer but could not take the heat after our water had run out and tried to go back by himself during the night. The guides told us that they find his kind often on their routes, most dead from dehydration. The guides said that we were not too far from a water source, but sadly he went the other way. I am sorry, but I needed to take off the lovely sweater you had knitted for me, Tuja, and use it as a turban. I'll make sure to wash it once I get out of here. I must stop now, as my sweat might stain the letter."

"We must stop by small oases from time to time to fill our water tanks and for the camediles to drink themselves. The nights have not been any better, as they are cold, and some of us have frostbite. "

"It was not a good idea to keep a fire during the night, as it attracts predators. I would rather not talk about that night. I saw some animals drinking from there before we arrived, but they scrambled to the raised dust clouds in the distance. We used to talk to each other in some parts of the night, mainly as it was too cold to fall asleep. There, Aston and Martin told more about what they were after. They told me about this famous traveler called "The great traveler of lands," which bothered them and others because he would not write down his name, meaning that they, too, fought what he was called. I told them to shut up, but soon they would continue anyways. They are like an old married couple, arguing daily unless someone shuts their mouth."

"We got hit by a storm. It was worse than the guides explained. The desert winds are no laughing matter; they can cut trees by slicing them with sand caught in the wind. I needed to hide inside my tent for a while. Once it was over, I dug myself out of the sand as my tent was covered beneath a dune. The sand in my clothes rustles as I ride my camedile, and I could swear I heard the guides snickering about it by themselves. Others thought they had lost me to the dunes, but I loved the faces they had once I preached the surface right before their feet. I got kicked right after, as they thought I was some sandworm or a husk."

"I could not have thought that something like that existed—a massive pillar of some rock poking out of the sand. That was the sacred city of Aflateleyla, also known as the devil's tooth. It got more significant as we approached, reaching the high heavens as we arrived at the base. This was our destination. Tourists piled next to it to take photos, but no one could grab any part of it. The guides left us there to look at it. It was bizarre, as there was no town next to it or anything, but then one of our remaining explorers, Hortensia, told us that the city was on top of it. I looked around but saw no elevator and no stairs leading up. We went to a booth that explained it. Around the rock would be a path, so we started walking."

"It took us almost half an hour to go around, but we arrived at the other side, where a small shack rested. An indigenous man there knew why we were there but said we needed authentication to enter, which we provided. Next was the most challenging part, as the man told us that the only path allowed by the people to scale the mountain was by hand. I could not believe it, but the man said it was pretty easy. The rock was porous like a sponge yet still hard as stone. Hortensia started climbing straight away, and soon we could not makeup but her puffy dark hair. Aston and Martin were skeptical but soon pressured me after climbing a few meters. The man said that the sand is quite soft to land from some distance, but there would be ledges that we could use when we were tired. Soon enough, we climbed around one-fifth of the way, and the wind had weakened. Others took rests on the ledges, while Hortensia probably already waited at the top. I would have preferred some climbing equipment, but that was also banned."

"I would not have believed I could have done it, but soon my friends stretched their arms to heave me up from the last ledge. The climbing was made relatively easy because we had to abandon most of our equipment for safekeeping at the bottom, as they did not allow technology inside. Once there, we could see the small town that had burrowed itself into this rugged rock and lived here as a tribe of its own. Tiny wooden and clay houses are everywhere; some are bigger near the center, where a sizeable empty square is used as a place of worship. I'm unsure if they allow me to use a ballpoint pen, so I'll stop writing here. I will write more if an opportunity arises once I get my hands on a regular pen."

The ink ran out, yet the paper continued with scribbles done with a pen.

"Finally got me a regular pen. Not that we didn't have any, but Aston and Martin didn't want to borrow theirs. We've been here a couple of days, and this place is truly marvelous. There are even water fountains that scientists say are created by the capillary phenomenon, where water rises through thin p. The religion practiced here is interesting as well. The adulthood ritual here is that young boys must jump into the large canyon that runs through the city, splitting it into the lower and upper city. It's not suicide, but they need to time it correctly and be light enough that a strong gust of wind will lift them back up. We got accepted to talk to the village elder, the archpriest. He told us that a traveler came here when he was just a boy and helped the village to become independent and a world heritage site. Sadly, we would not get any more information, as they call him the "foreign traveler." They did tell us that he continued down south, so we will probably go there then and look out for more similar stories."

"We just arrived back in civilization, so I'll mail this now and write again soon enough. Don't worry about me. The next place shouldn't be as dangerous as that, and we need time to research where exactly he went."

To my loving family and wife, Emil Eislandr." Tuja finished reading.

"Seems like he is having a fun time," Deras ate more cake.

"Something is written at the back." Orel noticed.

"Oh, sorry." Tuja flipped it.

"I almost forgot to mention. Orel, I heard you would start your journey soon. While I cannot send you off myself, I know it means a lot to you, and I'm proud of you. If you are reading this, please do not be shy to leave your message to me if you stop by home, or perhaps I can hear what you have told Tuja and others. You can also try and find me here in Zabad. Since we did not get much from our little trip, I'll be here for a while. I will let them know to expect you. Was that a bit too much? No, I know you will visit there one way or another."

"See you soon." Tuja read the other part.

"There he goes off again," Deras said. "Wish I still had all that spunk."

"I've only read about Aflateleyla but always wanted to see it for myself, yet more sun isn't something I desire now," Norman scratched his skin.

"I wouldn't mind," Ándras said.

After the food was gone and Andras and Deras were drinking, Tuja came to Orel to talk privately in his room. Orel was sitting alone, leaning on his workbench.

"Are you going to write a letter to him? We can keep it when he returns." Tuja asked.

"I'll think about it." Orel moped.

"What is the matter?"

She came closer to Orel and could see he was upset about something.

"Is this about Emil?" Tuja guessed.

"That letter made me remember how long it's been since I saw dad."

Tuja needed to think of her words before continuing. Orel's mood was deep, and her choice of words could make the difference between easing his pain or making it worse.

"Your father cares about you. He even carved that table once he heard I was carrying you."

"I guess so." Orel could still remember the nightmares from Sheyla's spell. "But why did he then leave?"

"Everyone has something they want to do. You want to discover the realms, and your father wants to find out about his family." Tuja almost shed a tear. "I can't be there for you, so take care of yourself. I want you all coming back home safe."

Orel stood up to hug her mother. They shared a quiet moment. Both of them needed to relieve some stress and anxiety that had built up. The hug made them feel a bit better, and they could let go after a while.

"Let's go back to the living room before anyone gets worried." Tuja smiled.

The evening turned to night, and that was when most people went to sleep. Tuja stopped Ándras and Deras after they got too loud, and Norman slept early in the granary. The lights turned off, and the house lay silent, or at least mainly. Deras was sleeping extra loudly because of the alcohol, but it did not bother most of the family, but someone still did not get sleep. It was not because of the snoring or the ticking of the clocks around the house; Orel was kept awake by something else. An hour passed looking at the ceiling, yet no sleep came, so he decided to go out for a while. Quietly sneaking and avoiding the creaky boards, Orel descended from the second floor to the front door. Slowly pulling the handle, the door opened just enough for him to pass through and close it afterward.

Once outside, Orel walked through the forest to the rocks on the shore. Gusts of wind rustled the grass and the trees while small waves hit the coast. The fresh air flapped his pajamas wildly, yet he did not feel cold.

Sitting on a batch of moss, Orel looked at the horizon. The crescent moon had risen to the sky, and the stars unveiled along with the nebula. He gazed at it for a time that felt like an eternity, just as he had so many times before, but it was as if he did not see the same landscape. Once, he saw infinite possibilities; now, it was layered by a coat of danger. He did not know what would await him there or if he was ready to face the challenges, which would, without a doubt, only get more challenging as he pressed onward.

Orel could hear someone walk beside him and sit down. He was too tired to care and was quite sure who it was.

"Can't sleep either?" Norman sat next to him.

They sat together for a while, not speaking a word. Both saw the ocean ahead, yet was it the same? What did the two think in all that silence, and what did they see?

"I've had nights like these—too many things to think about. You stop doing things and can't enjoy the things you used to. It keeps you awake and slowly eats your heart out. I've always thought of stupid people as lucky, you know? I'd rather trade my head for an empty one. Yet here I am, still going my way." Norman gazed deeply at the horizon.

Orel looked over and saw Norman smiling ever so slightly. It felt peculiar to see a man tell his suffering yet still smile. The tranquil expression was like watching a calm lake, contrasting the somber look on Orel's face.

"What keeps you going?" Orel asked.

Norman seemed to go back to his senses to glance at Orel before lifting his gaze and falling to lie on the ground. He sighed deeply and kept his eyes closed for a while.

"Look at those stars." Norman opened his eyes.

Orel looked up and saw the sky sparkling like a sea of pearls.

"You can't even begin to count them, yet they're just a tiny spec in the grand scheme. Did you know? We can only see so far into space; that's why it's called the observable universe. But that doesn't mean there isn't anything beyond it. We haven't just gotten there yet. I want to see past that curtain, prove how blind we have been all this time."

"You think you can do that?"

"Dreams aren't called dreams if they were easy. I don't want to do this because it's easy, but because I know it's hard. I only got myself started, but that's never the hardest part. Even if you can keep rolling, you need to remember where to go, or you're just a mossless stone. I'm not going to stop because some half-brain told me it was stupid. I don't care what others say. I mean, what do they know? When I prove them wrong, I'll smile with the shittiest grin."

"But why do you go with me? Wouldn't you get there faster with some professionals?"

Norman let out a small laugh.

"I once thought I was on some race against time with my life—Vita Brevis, Ars Longa, as they say. But there's no use in trying to set your plans in stone. Life finds a way, and eventually, so will you. That's why I don't mind the detours."

Orel could not say anything. He could only turn to look at the sky as well; what Norman said resonated in his heart. Orel smiled as they looked at the countless stars on the fabric of space. He felt the same tranquil feeling next to Norman, at least for a moment.

"You wanted to go to Albion next, right?" Norman asked.

"Yeah." Orel nodded.

"Alrighty, guess there is nothing else to say." Norman stretched.

"Aren't you going to warn me?" Orel asked.

"You already know. Besides, preparation is only half the battle." Norman said. "Do you have a plan?"

"How could I without my tactician?" Orel smiled.

Norman smiled back. "Then we better start working."

Both felt at ease talking to each other, but Orel considered it more meaningful. He hadn't had this type of casual talk between friends for a while and wanted to keep it going as long as he could. The night was still young, and Orel felt like talking to the break of dawn, as long as Norman was willing.

"What did you write in the paper?" Orel asked.

"Nothing special. My name and some words."

"Do you already have ideas on how to get to Albion?"

"It's pretty hard. Their security is tight. No weapons or magic items are allowed inside the country. They won't let us in without a good reason." Norman explained.

"Have you figured out how we are getting in?"

"I am allowed if I fill a form, but it is a different deal for you. That's why we will land a job there."

"A job, from who?" Orel asked.

"The Guild."

"Oh." Orel realized.

"There is just one problem." Norman pointed out.

"What?"

"Job offers are scarce from Albion, so we need to be quick to accept any that come across."

"We also still need to do the exam." Orel reminded.

"That too." Norman sighed. "We'll see what happens."

"I guess you're right," Orel said. "Do you think we are up for it?"

"For Albion? Hmmm, maybe with some training." Norman said with a grin.

"When do we start?"

"Tomorrow, if you're up for it."

"Always." Orel smiled.

Orel had made a promise to himself. For the next realm, the three would go together, and Orel would not accept any compromise. So the two went back to bed and waited for tomorrow, where they prepared for their next target from that day forward.

Their next objective was the land of the white rocks, the fog-smeared island, home of the legendary proud knights of Pendragon, now a closed-off state ruled with an iron fist. They had left the frozen north; next would be the center islands.

Their journey was sure to be more challenging than they could imagine, as it was the first ordeal of getting inside the country.

After Orel returned inside, he wrote the final words to his first logbook before falling asleep at his desk, dreaming of the future. However wild those dreams can be, he would not guess what situations they would find themselves in. Fate is often vowed quite complicated and unexpectedly, like a fine rug. It is up to the person if they call it unfair or exciting.

Thus closed the prologue to the great logbook, but as the name suggests, it was merely the opening chapter. Many more tales will come until the very last page, whatever there may lie. One thing is sure, however. The events and history created here will surely follow the three adventurers to the far reaches beyond the horizon.