Hoplite opened his gallon canteen, placing the container to his lips and guzzling the cool water quickly. It rushed down his throat in a torrent, Hoplite chugging half the container in one go. He let out a breath once he was done, relishing the soothed soreness of his throat before re-sealing the container. Today, he was going to ask Lance an important question that had been at the back of his mind ever since the Harkhall had told him that he was an Outworlder. Slowly but surely, Hoplite was beginning to think that this really was an alternate reality, where the laws of physics he knew and understood simply didn’t apply where it should have. Men capable of pulling an escape shuttle off course, unkillable monsters, and… ‘magical’ powers, threw Hoplite’s understanding of the world out the window.

It was difficult for him to think in such a way, to acknowledge the potential existence of such things as magic… But until he found definitive proof that this was a lost colony… Well, that would be a part of the question he’d be asking Lance.

He opened the flap to the tent, peeking in to see Michael sound asleep, a bowl sitting next to his bedroll, scraped completely clean of its contents. No scars or bruises showed the proof of Michael’s previous wounds from when Hoplite had pulled him from the stinking shuttle. Another unexplained anomalous ability, healing grievous injuries by praying to a god… Hoplite winced at the thought…

re-indoctrination…

No, he would not be re-indoctrinated for trying to ascertain the functions of this world. He closed the flap again, turning away from the tent to face the sprawling forest they had set up camp in. They hadn’t traveled too far into the Faewood, but Hoplite had still wanted to be well away from the locals to keep Michael from harm.

The now setting sun’s orange light poured between the dozens of leaves overhead, casting several shifting shadows that danced along the ground and across his looming form. Hoplite then looked up to Lance, who had been perched high on a tree branch near the edge of the forest in the direction of the Fiendwall. She was keeping an eye on the camp far below, using the tree’s great height as a vantage point.

With her position, there was no way anyone could possibly come up here from the valley without her seeing them. Still, Hoplite had begun guarding the tent in case of that possibility; there was also the very real risk of fiends finding the tent. Sure, most of the lesser fiends had been cleared out of the Faewood, but there could still be stragglers searching for victims. Hoplite would simply not allow Michael to fall prey to man or fiend.

It had been a few hours since Gali had given them the tent, a massive heavy thing made of sturdy canvas. Hoplite had made sure not to mention to the mayor where he intended to set up camp, just in case.

It wasn’t just because Hoplite didn’t trust the man, it was that prying ears could easily pick up on what was being said. It could have been a doctor in the infirmary, or even a nearby Fiendwaller listening through the canvas from the outside. Hoplite would not risk Michael’s life to give Gali information he simply didn’t need. The mayor thankfully didn’t seem to be offended by Hoplite holding back the location, indeed he seemed to have expected that outcome.

Gali had said that he would try to spread the word of Michael’s innocence, but not until the wall was at least partially rebuilt. Gali had said that if the fiendwallers heard about Kazon’s involvement, they would panic, maybe even abandoning the wall entirely…

Gali did agree to get the camp’s attention so they could leave without any notice, calling a mandatory meeting to discuss what would be done about the breach. Such a thing needed to be discussed anyhow, Gali had claimed. Never in the two-thousand years since the Fiendwall’s erection had it been breached, and figuring out how to repair it was going to be a monumental task.

This was due to the fact that the Fiendwall had not been conventionally built. It was a thin mountain of bedrock that had been risen from the earth in a solid chunk to keep out the fiends. Apparently, the Pillar-God of Justice, Oros, had heaved the stone right out of the bowels of Ahkoolis with nothing but his bare hands. There were no seams, no bricks, just solid rock that had been hollowed out by Grayshaners hundreds of years ago for the rich minerals within. Gali had said that Fiendwallers were descendants of criminals from the city of Grayshane, sent here to live as punishment. New faces did arrive from Grayshane still, other exiles and the muck of society pushed away to live in the Fiendwall.

The Fiendwaller’s didn’t seem to treat it as a punishment from what Hoplite could see, besides having to make their homes in the wall and not the valley like several had apparently wanted.

Hoplite turned his attention back to Lance, right now he didn’t want to think about the Fiendwall. He needed to ask her this question now.

He began moving forward, his boots making deep imprints into the thick grass with his heavy steps. Lance turned to look at him, breaking her perfect stillness from her crouched position atop the branch. Their eyes met for a moment before Hoplite slipped his helmet back on, and Lance smiled. For what reason he wasn’t entirely sure. He drew closer, making sure to keep the tent in sight on his rear camera as Lance began descending the tree with a practiced smoothness.

For a moment, she almost appeared to be falling, moving down the trunk at a near-dizzying speed. He’d seen other watchers climb up and down trees much like Lance herself was currently doing, yet her movements made her comrades appear borderline clumsy. When Lance reached the base of the tree, she turned, approaching Hoplite with a small skip in her step and a smile plastered on her face. What was she so happy about?

When she finally drew close, she stopped, hands clasped behind her back as she leaned toward him “So you want to talk to me?”

“...Yes.” Hoplite said after a moment's pause.

Lance nodded to herself then, as if to confirm something she had been sure of. Hoplite didn’t know what that something was of course, but maybe she just assumed that he wanted to talk when he began moving toward her. A logical reaction. Lance quickly turned her head to look at the treeline where she had come from, her long black hair shifting to follow the sudden motion. When Lance seemingly deemed that all was well, she looked back to him and grinned.

“Well? What do you want to talk about?” She asked him in a bubbly tone “I could see it in your eyes- oh right, you wouldn’t know what that means.” She said, shifting her tone to be more explanatory as she put one finger beneath one eyelid “So, elves all have some talent with what's known to us as ‘Dok-ah’, to put it simply, eye magic.” She continued, removing her finger “You experienced the pinnacle of those talents when you met the Harkhall, all elves have one unique Dok-ah and the common one that allows all elves to peer behind the veils of the eyes.”

Hoplite narrowed his eyes behind his helmet “What does that mean? That you can read my mind if we share eye contact?”

Another anomalous ability he would be keeping in mind for the future. He needed to keep his thoughts from steering toward project CHIMERA while his helmet was off…

“Not precisely…” Lance said with a wince “I can… well, I can see your emotions and guess intentions based on them. When we made eye contact while I was in the tree, I could see your curiosity peak.” She said with a small shrug “I assumed it was because you wanted to ask me something.”

“I do. But not about this… Dok-ah.” Hoplite said flatly “We’ll continue on that subject another time. Right now I have a more important matter I want to discuss with you.”

Lance’s eyes widened, looking expectant.

“...Everyone on this world I’ve met,” Hoplite began after a long pause “They speak Jynesian, why?” Hoplite asked.

It had been in the back of his mind for a long while now. It was why he hadn’t completely shifted toward the conclusion that this was an alternate dimension. “That is the one language of humanity, Jynesian standard. Everyone I’ve met here speaks it.” Hoplite continued “When our Lord conquered Earth, he commanded that all under his reign speak in a single language. Jynesian standard.”

Lance then blinked before shaking her head “We’re speaking in Saiharan my friend.” Lance told him “Back in the first age, known as Premas, the head god of the Knowledge Pillar: Saihara, created the common tongue for the mortal races to use. It was named Saiharan by Zodd in honor of the work she had done for his children, and it’s been called that ever since.” Lance continued, her tone growing somewhat solemn “That’s likely one of the only things leftover from the first age… most else has been forgotten by now.”

Saiharan… Jynesian… It could still be that this was truly a lost colony that had made up a mythology. The thought still somehow felt hollow… But how was it possible that two different worlds in two separate dimensions could develop the same language? No, it simply couldn’t be. That made no sense… Unless…

“I’ve been called Outworlder before,” Hoplite said “So other Ternans have been here before? In the past?”

Lance nodded “They have to be, all Outworlders come from the same realm, but the name of it has been lost to history. There hasn’t been an Outworlder in the current age besides yourself Hoplite; you and your friend that is.” Lance then blinked in surprise “Well, I suppose it was lost to history, you said it was Earth? Why would you name your world after dirt? That’s silly-”

“What age is it now?” Hoplite asked, the words almost rushing out as the freshly grown hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“...It’s Decuma, the Tenth Age.” She continued after a short pause, brow furrowing “If someone on Ahkoolis were to give you a date… it would be Decuma, the current age,” Lance explained “The year, two-thousand three, followed by the month and date, Laprila seventeenth.”

Hoplite paused again before asking “Were there Outworlders in the First Age?”

Lance nodded again, taking a deep breath before speaking “There were likely Outworlders here that predated the First Age, but there were definitely Outworlders on Ahkoolis in every age after that, save for Decuma that is.”

If that was the case… If that was true… Then that would mean that, despite what Lance had told him, Saiharan wasn’t made by the gods…

It had to be a Ternan that had brought Jynesian to Ahkoolis. But Jynesian was only made standard two-thousand years ago… Decuma was apparently past its two-thousandth year, and the peoples of this world had been speaking it long before Decuma had even begun… That left only one possible explanation. This really was a different dimension… The speed of his thinking increased, time seeming to stop as he considered dozens of possibilities. Five whole seconds of real-time passed before he finally came to a conclusion.

Time during dimensional travel had to be warped in some way. For some reason, Ternans had been able to get to Ahkoolis thousands of years before Jyn was even born on Earth. The millenia that had passed in the histories of both Terna and Ahkoolis didn’t match, yet both spoke in Jynesian. The math simply didn’t add up, meaning that unless Hoplite was wrong or Lance was misinformed, this really was a different realm. He had no idea how time would be affected between dimensions, he was no scientist, but it was the only… he struggled to think: logical conclusion he could come to.

In truth, it didn’t feel like a conclusion… He just felt like an idiot, blundering around in the dark to find an answer to this impossible situation. His shoulders slumped slightly, a showing that he’d not normally allow anyone, but he couldn’t help it. It was near overwhelming to accept that the impossible had really happened… his world was flipped on its head and nothing he knew of reality could apply any longer.

Suddenly, something filled his right hand and he looked up to see Lance’s hand gripping his own.

It was tiny, barely covering the surface of his thick metal gauntlet, yet Hoplite could still feel her squeezing hand through the sensors. It was an alien feeling he didn’t know how to respond to.

“It’s okay my friend.” Lance said in a gentle tone “I know it must be a lot to come to grips with… especially considering how obstinate you’ve been about how our world works.” She said with a short laugh “But I’ll be here to help you out, you can ask me whatever questions you want and I’ll answer them to the best of my ability… I’m not a historian after all. ”She finished with a shrug “And… well, I’ve been thinking about it but… I’d like to come with you to help find your friends, if you’ll have me. I just need to come before the Harkhall and request for temporary leave, but I know they’ll approve, I’ve been at the job for two-hundred years now without as much as a day off!” She said with exasperation “Maybe I do need a break from the forest to go on a real adventure, what do you say?” Lance asked with a smile, looking up at him with those hopeful green eyes.

Hoplite remained silent for a long time before finally squeezing her hand back; gently of course, lifting it up to give it a firm shake.

“Affirmative.” He told her.