“Well, it does not get more private than this, now does it?” Baelin said, trodding through the mountain pass. His voice echoed across rock peaks rising on both sides of the valley, each like stone hands reaching for blue skies.

The air was cold and unnaturally quiet: and not a speck of life could be found. Neither animal, insect, or plant.

Even toadstools and lichens were absent.

The stillness made Alex feel like he and Baelin were the only living things in the entire world.

“These are called the Dead Peaks,” the chancellor pointed to the stone peaks. “There was a fairly active dwarven empire here once…but the slow degradation caused by time and a magical phenomena, stripped them of life long ago. Ultimately, they will recover, but it will take many centuries for that to happen. In all likelihood, right now, we are the only forms of life in the entire range.”

“Is this place dangerous?” Alex asked, watching the barren rock uncertainly.

“Oh my no, not with the magical protections I cast upon us after we said our goodbyes to Thundar, Claygon and Ripp,” the Archwizard smiled. “Without those protections though, even a brief stroll would prove quite fatal. In any case, you asked for utter privacy, and I felt the need for natural skies above me after the grimness of Ezaliel’s realm, and in this secluded place, we can have both.”

“That’s a good way to do it…” the younger wizard kicked a stone, an awkward feeling churned in his belly.

“So…there’s a lot I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Wonderful,” Baelin said, his eyes shining with barely contained fascination. “I take it that you discovered new information about the ever elusive Hannar-cim?”

“I’ll say.” Alex pointed to the sword on his back, then felt around in his satchel for Hannah’s phone. “First, I have a question for you.”

“Of course. Just ask away.” The chancellor cocked his head.

“Where are we, really? Which world are we in?” the young wizard’s eyes searched the heavens, his eyes looking for unseen constellations in the blue beyond the clouds. He wondered if they’d be completely alien to the stars he grew up under. “And by where are we, I mean what world?”

Baelin paused, staring at him for a long moment. “Before I answer you, what brings about this question?”

Alex took the Traveller’s book from his bag. “Hannar—I mean, Hannah’s artefact was like a key, it let me unlock the words in her book. She’s actually from another world, Baelin. One I’ve never heard of. She’s also travelled to many others. And her name is actually Hannah Kim, not Hannar-Cim, like that demon Burn-Saw called her.”

The chancellor was silent for a long moment, his eyes burning with an intensity that kept Alex’s attention riveted to his face. As the heartbeats passed, he started to wonder if with one wave of a hand, Baelin was planning on wiping all knowledge of other worlds from his mind as easily as dirt from a cloak.

“So you know, then,” the ancient archwizard said solemnly. “Then let me welcome you to a very exclusive club, Alex. There are not many in our world who know the true nature of the stars above. Many have suspicions, but they are difficult to confirm. Only by the most powerful of teleportation magics can one traverse the stars, though a few clever souls have crafted and piloted vessels that have done so. But for now, at least, these things remain secret and inaccessible to the majority of beings.”

Relief spread over Alex’s face: he was hoping that Baelin wouldn’t deny it, but he’d also expected him to do so.

“I ask,” the chancellor continued. “That you keep this information to yourself, though.”

“Why, out of curiosity?” Alex said. “I’m not exactly planning on screaming it from every rooftop, but why the secrecy?”

“For a number of reasons.” Baelin looked ahead, his goat-like eyes falling on the stone valley stretching into the distance. “Our world is on a path, at the moment, that would eventually bring it to the stars. Yet, while the gulf of space appears vast, you would be surprised how small it can be in fact. There are resources in other worlds, the likes of which you could only dream of, Alex. At the same time, there are dangers up there that make Ezaliel appear no more threatening than the average housecat.”

He sucked his teeth in displeasure. “The gulf of stars is something for a Proper Wizard to engage with: one who has truly come into their own power—earning their way to it by way of study, experimentation and combat—one ready for the responsibilities that come with such exploration. They would know how to coexist with other archwizards, whether by keeping out of their way, or working in mutual collaboration. They would know what resources to harvest, and what would be best left alone. They would also know what they should avoid at all costs.”

“I think I get it.” Alex watched the sky. “If you tell every wizard that there’s an entire universe of resources to explore, there’d be a mad scramble to find a way to get up there and get their hands on some. I could see a bunch of dumbasses tramping around up there and taking everything in sight, or waking up something even more powerful than Ezaliel that could follow them back to our world.”

“Precisely,” Baelin said. “One day, I must remember to tell you the story of the Light of Darukesh, which is a perfect example of what you just said. I…do wonder, though… You seem to be taking it well.”

“Taking what well?”

“The news that our entire world is nothing more than a mote of dust in a vastly—perhaps infinite—titanic sea. Even archwizards have reacted poorly to the change in perspective.”

Alex gave Baelin a long look. “You know, I grew up in a kingdom where I was told that once every hundred years an apocalypse happens. It’s supposed to be so dire, so life-ending, that only five Heroes chosen by our god can stop it. I honestly believe that type of conflict is about as central to our culture as you can get. But then, I stepped through a portal into the Rhinean Empire one day. And do you know what I saw?”

“What did you see?”

“No one cared.” The Thameish wizard laughed bitterly. “In the port of Mausarr, people were more concerned about the price of fish balls than what was going on in Thameland. In Generasi, they cared even less. I mean sure, there’s collection plates and hang-wringing for some…but most folk in the city only started seeing the Ravener’s attack as a big deal when they could benefit from it. Then, the more I learned about the planes, about magical events in other kingdoms and history, I realised that…how can I put this…”

He struggled to find the right words. “...everyone’s got their own issues and lives. They have things in their heads that are life and death to them, but probably wouldn’t mean much to me. What’s a world-ending event to Thameland, is nothing to Generasi. At the same time, when Ezaliel invaded the city, people in Thameland didn’t care: they had their own Ravener to fight. So, it comes down to perspective, and with those things in mind, learning that there’s more in the universe than just us, isn’t such a big adjustment. My realm’s just a part of the world, and now our world is just a part of the cosmos. That fact doesn’t make what I worry about less important to me.”

Baelin smiled fondly at the young man. “Spoken like a Proper Wizard, indeed! Ah, my heart brims with pride. That is a proper way to handle such matters. When the mountaineer finds out that the tallest mountain they have summited is nothing more than a hill, they do not despair, they take pride in what they have done and prepare for the next summit.”

“I’d just teleport to the top of the mountain.”

“Practical, yet boring, Alex. Practical, yet boring”

“Fair enough, but boring isn't so bad.”

“In some cases, no.” Baelin looked at him intently. “You and I must finish our discussion about not speaking to others concerning what you’ve learned, but for now, my curiosity about the Traveller grows.”

“Yeah, and let me tell you what’s not boring: finding out that the Traveller knew most of what we know about the dungeon cores. And she and the Fool of her time—a warrior named Kelda—figured out why my Mark is the only one that inhibits actions, while the other Heroes get free power. They had a theory as to why, at least.”

“Truly?” Baelin took a deep breath in anticipation. “Tell me everything.”

And so Alex launched into the story: how he and his companions had made their way to Kaz-Mowang’s palace, his encounter with the foul archivist, and their ‘rescue’ of the Traveller’s artefact. He went into as much detail as he could about the phone—recounting some of Hannah’s journey from her world—as Baelin stared at the device, completely fascinated.

“You know, one of my cabal members has shown me objects that were somewhat similar, though much larger.” Baelin ran his hand down his beard-braids. “Fascinating. And it functions by the Traveller’s power?”

“Yeah, watch this.” Alex said, channelling his energies into the device. Teleportation magic coursed through it, bringing the hidden ‘paintings’ to life. Baelin watched over his shoulder as Alex guided him through the different functions.

“For instance, this thing can store ‘paintings’ on it. Here, let me show you that image from the initial display.” He went through images of Katalonia stored on the device. Her friends, Val and Chris, were in different poses, and Alex pointed out Hannah standing in front of tons of landmarks.

He also discovered earlier images of what he assumed was her old world. Both he and Baelin went through them in fascination, wondering at buildings of steel and glass, reaching far into the sky. The roads were wide and looked like they’d been painted with black paint for some curious reason. They seemed to be almost as wide as Generasi’s, perhaps even wider in some cases—with strange, magical wagons of painted metal sitting atop them and no beasts of burden to pull them anywhere in sight.

Other images included ships with no sails, flying constructs crafted of steel, and strangely costumed individuals performing all sorts of fantastical feats.

One image in particular caught their attention. In it a towering woman held a steel and glass building—at least twice the size of Noarc’s tower—high above her head, seemingly unaided.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Baelin mused. “They must have incredibly high ambient mana to produce so many magical devices of such size.”

“Actually, the book said that this ‘earth’ has less ambient mana than Katalonia,” Alex said. “I have no idea if it has less than our world.”

“Hmmm, then perhaps some very advanced engineering is the answer.” The chancellor licked his lips. “Such things are more the purview of a member of my cabal: I have not delved into such matters myself. Not yet, at least. The arcane mysteries of the universe always held more interest to me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Alex agreed. “But it’s mind-boggling, isn’t it? And wait, there’s even more!”

He showed Baelin the artefact’s translation function. “This translates tons of languages, and she made the device do that all by herself. Honestly, Hannah was a damn genius: she took hold of the power that transported her between worlds and—somehow—learned how to cultivate it into her own strength. All she had to work with were dregs and left overs, but she managed to both grow and master it, and turned it into a completely spellcraft-free form of teleportation magic. I don’t even know if you can call it mana: it’s similar, but still different. I’d think it was divinity, but I can’t use divinity, so it’s got to be something else.”

“Perhaps she had a natural affinity or something of that sort,” the ancient wizard theorised. “We do not know every law in the universe, nor its many mysteries.”

“Yeah, and even taking all that into account, she took this mysterious power and made it bend to her. And that’s not all: she actually made up her own language. She said that she used a lot of language magic to do it, but I’d give her skills lots of credit, I don’t think that’s something just anybody could do.”

“Indeed, it sounds like she had ingenuity. You and she likely would have gotten along very well.”

Alex coughed awkwardly. “Well…about that…actually, wait I’m getting ahead of myself. Here, let me show you the book.”

He turned pages, demonstrating the translation function.

“And that solves the mystery of why no one in my cabal could decipher the language: it only existed in Hannah Kim’s mind and book. Hah, very clever. Very clever indeed. But one thing confuses me.”

He pointed to the sword strapped to Alex’s back. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, there’s a ritual in the back of the book here.” Alex flipped pages, finding the passage at the end. “It was written…just before she died.” A dull ache grew in his chest. “She really went to hell and back to try and fix Thameland. As a matter of fact, she spent most of her life on it.”

He explained how a shard of her memories was stored in the sword’s silicon pommel. Baelin’s eyes stayed on the blade, watching it longingly. “Ah, good, that means we have more than just the journal she left behind. A shard of memory can be a very telling thing. So, what did it tell you?”

“Honestly? I took a look at it in camp. It told me a bit about the church and Kelda, but nothing more than I already knew. Nothing that I hadn’t gotten straight from Hannah,” Alex explained.

“Ah yes.” Baelin nodded. “Some shards of memory mimic a person in life—Wait…what do you mean, already knew? You phrased that as though you had spoken with her before you accessed the shard of memory.”

“Yeah, and I don’t mean figuratively.” Alex stopped walking to face Baelin. “I’m going to ask you a direct question. You once told me that there’s no way to bring people back from the dead properly. Is that really true?”