Chapter Text
Luin is unlike any other town in Sylvarant.
Unlike Triet, which had burned in distrust and unease and Hima, which soaked in its isolation, as we step past wooden planks and into the streets of Luin an ethereal warmth envelops us—as if the sun itself has come to rest between my palms, permeating the fatigue built over days of travel. Travelling on a passing breeze, it infuses the air I breathe with a vivacious melody that beguiles tremors of hope deep in my chest, despite the ever-persistent knowledge of Luin's impending ruin.
"Hey, Sheena …"
"Hm? What is it?"
"Can I go find the inn?" She turns and looks directly at the building, just meters ahead, that very proudly states: 'Phoenix Inn.' Sheepishly, I look away with a blush. "Um. I'll just, rent our rooms, then …?"
It's more a request than anything else. Days have passed since we departed from Hima but, even now, I can't help but whither in shame when I think back to my display that night. Sheena, I'm sure, doesn't care, but it'd be nice to have even a few minutes to myself.
"Here." I take the gald she offers. "Come find me after?"
"O—kay, I will. Be right back, then."
I book our room quickly, setting my things down and flopping back on the bed with a sigh. Luin, already; it's already been so long. It took five days to reach Sylvarant, then another five—six? Was it five or six?—to reach the Ossa Trail. Then, after that …
… It's no use. Without paper to keep track, I'll never be able to keep the days straight. Never in my life has it been so difficult to keep track of time, much less a consecutive series of events; what day it is, even.
I mutter to myself, as I get back to my feet, "What does it matter anyway."
I depart from the inn with only my bag, cloak, and knife, intending to track down Sheena. Yet, for some reason, I find myself turning as I exit. Rather than heading further into town, where the square should be, instead my feet bring me towards yet another bridge.
It's quieter here. Without the bustle of workshops, workers toiling away and tools clanging in tandem, stray animals and children scurrying underfoot, there's space to breathe as I go, my attention drawn to the houses I pass. I catch the eye of an older woman hanging laundry on a line who offers a jovial smile that presses dimples into her cheeks—yet I find myself ducking my head, my shoulders hunched to my ears as I pass, unable to return her smile.
Pressed between the chapel and an item shop and tucked away at the end of the island with a workshop at its back is yet another building; 'Catherine's General Store,' it announces, emblazoned in bold, popping letters. Bracketed by fresh mint, berries, and grass, for some reason, it takes me by surprise.
It's far from the first store to exist that didn't while the world was … well, still a game. Yet, for some reason, my eyes are drawn to it, inexorably enthralled—and before I know it I'm approaching, my legs moving on instinct, the smell of herbs tickling my nose as I approach.
"Welcome!"
In an instant it cracks, shattering like glass upon tile as my senses come to once more, dampened by the rapidly dissipating allure that had enveloped me. Each breath ushers in further clarity, lifting the fog until my head is clear once more, finally rid of its influence.
Someone clears their throat and I jump, almost startling out of my skin, locking eyes with the boy behind the counter. "Hey, you okay?."
"Oh. N-No, I—I'm fine. Sorry." Without another word, I turn and hurry off into the shelves without a clue what I'm looking for. My own feet brought me here, but it appears my brain has yet to make the connection as to why.
A few people come and go as I browse; regulars, I'd guess. Several head upstairs after completing their purchase, without any reaction from the boy behind the counter. At any moment, I'm expecting him to come out and kick me out—hell, I'm not even sure why I'm still here. I should be looking for Sheena or listening for rumours regarding the Chosen's activities …
"Hey." Holy—! "Can I help you?"
"Um." I stare at the sugar barrel in front of me, once again struggling to calm my racing heart. "I-Is this a—good price?"
"Hell if I know, it's the only price we have." If I had to guess, he's no more than a year or two younger than I am. He's also nearly as tall as I am, a very unpleasant observation. "Can I help you look for anything, or are you just gonna hang around loitering?"
"Sorry …" I edge myself further away. He follows. "I-I don't really know what I'm—w-what I'm looking for." For the third time, I pass the tea canisters, incredibly tempted. "Do you guys carry calendars?"
As he's ringing me up, I examine the rest of the store's interior; behind him are a second door and a small cubby beneath the staircase, blocked away by several heavy-looking boxes. It's only as I'm shouldering my bag, having packed away the items I purchased, that he speaks. "Hey. You a traveller?"
"Me? Uh, y-yeah, I am. Why?"
"Ever been to Asgard?"
"No. Not yet."
His face falls. "Not yet? You planning on going then?"
"Uh, ah … yeah, soon—we're leaving in a few days, I think … why?"
"Really? Hey, in that case, you willing to do me a favour?"
"What—"
Before I can finish he's already moving, rushing out from behind the counter and blitzing up the stairs as I watch in disbelief. He is aware that I could just … loot the cash register and leave while he's gone, isn't he?
Except, surprisingly, he's back in an instant, thundering down the stairs as he flies back into view before thrusting an envelope towards me, nearly tripping over a loose rug in the process. "Deliver this! Please," he adds, as he settles back behind the counter. "It's addressed to my uncle; his name is Sinclair. Tell him it's from Luke."
I look down at the letter. Indeed, it is addressed to someone named Sinclair.
"He's a doctor—he's in Asgard right now, for work." I turn the envelope over, finding nothing of interest on the back. "But it's been over two months now. Two months and no one will say anything to me! It's always, 'You're much too impatient, learn to keep your head down and wait!' or, 'What are you expecting? You know your uncle likes to be thorough!' They won't even deliver my damn letter!"
"What does he look like …? Can you describe him to me?"
Thankfully, the topic change seems to settle some of his anger. "Like me, except taller." I stare down at him with a frown. This kid, well—the most notable things about him are the brown doe-eyes peeking out from behind his chocolate-brown fringe. "Oh … lighter too. You know, he's a doctor. They don't go outside much."
Upon seeing my expression, his own twists. He hurries out from behind the counter once more and back into the shelves to retrieve something. "Here," he says, thrusting two bags of lollipops into my hands. "I can't pay you, 'cause this isn't my shop, it's my folk's. But I'll pay for those in return."
Sylvarant has candy? "Uh, t—thanks …? We might leave later—"
"That's fine! Just get it to him before comes back—as long as you do that, I don't care how long it takes."
"O—Okay then … I'll deliver this. … Is that all?" He nods and slowly, carefully, after putting everything away I make my way towards the door. The bell chimes as I exit and, when it becomes apparent he has nothing else to say, I practically bolt from the shop.
The smell of mint nips my heels as I go, buffering the steps as I spare a final glance over my shoulder. 'Catherine's General Shop,' bracketed on either end by plants; at the end of the steps, a tree looms overhead, shading a child's swingset and the path to the chapel.
Before anything else can happen—or rather, before I can risk further tempting my bad luck—I turn swiftly on my heel and hurry away. The woman from earlier has vanished, her laundry left to hang in silence; yet, even in her absence, her home itself has filled that void, exuding its own presence, tangible, a tapestry of memories that bleed love.
It's beneath its wing that I find myself lingering, just far enough to avoid being accused of trespassing. Breathe in, breathe out. For a few minutes, I simply … exist—lingering, listening, waiting. I'm not sure what for, if for anything. I brush the tips of my fingers against the surface of the lake, thinking about the calendar I procured. Will it make any difference?
Of course, not. I stifle a sigh, resting my chin on my knees. How could it?
Sure—I can nail down the day I woke up in Tethe'alla and the exact day everything thus far has happened, but what good will that do? I don't know what day it is on Earth. I don't know what day it was when I was last on Earth, either. All I know is that whatever day that was, is not the day I was sent here.
I could pick an arbitrary date and assign it, 'Day 1,' but what difference would that make?
What good does knowing the world's dates do me? All it does is offer a way to keep track of time; of just how long I've been here for. … Yet, even then, there's no telling how long I was gone before that. What's to say years haven't passed—what's another month? Two months? Six months?
Something soft brushes against my elbow, drawing me from my thoughts as I glance down at the source of the action. "Mmrr?" The cat bumps its head against my arm once more, letting out yet another sound as I shift and offer it my hand.
"Cutie." I'm unable to stop a smile from crawling to my face as it bumps its chin against my knuckles, allowing me to pet it. "Do you belong to someone?"
No collar, but it's well-fed and cared for, so I can only assume it belongs to someone. I can only guess that, in Sylvarant, an indoor cat is more of a novel idea. I scratch gently behind its ear, feeling the echo of its purr all the way up my arm—God, it is just so cute.
I miss my cats. Suddenly, abruptly, the thought comes, freezing me in place. My—my cats? I had—have cats?
I wince, my eyes twitching as I bring a hand up to shield my eyes from the piercing rays of the sun, struggling to relax my strained shoulders. The cat at my side chatters loudly, a chorus of urgent, persistent whines that demand attention—so I yield to its pleas, grasping the feather toy nearby and flicking my wrist with familiar, practiced ease—
When I breathe next it's like time itself holds its breath. Fresh and crisp, the air draws my senses to life once more, lingering on my tongue as my fingers crawl to a stop, and—Oh. The thought comes, a sudden revelation as I cast my gaze downward, catching the intense, golden gaze of the creature below me. I do.
Lingering in its shadow is a cacophony of relief, almost blinding in its descent. Finally—finally, something that is mine. That I know is mine.
It takes several seconds to find my voice again but, when I do, it feels … stronger. "Do you have a name? I'm sure you do, don't you?" A quick glance around shows that no one is in search of a lost cat at the moment. "Are you a working kitty?"
I'm offered another meow. I indulge myself for a minute longer, stumbling over my racing thoughts the whole time—it's only when the cat itself begins to grow restless do I get to my feet. Unfortunately, I can't spend the entire day petting a cat by the river.
It'd sure be nice, though.
It chirps one final time, bumping my calf with its head, before turning sharply on its heel and hurrying across the bridge and back into the heart of Luin. I watch it go in silence, massaging the side of my jaw as I do, and only once it's out of view do I follow and do the same.
I don't look for Sheena. It's stupid, I know; the guilt is eating me alive before I've made up my mind. Yet, spurred on by the sudden memory, it seems obvious. I can always find Sheena later—or, if she becomes impatient enough, I'm sure she'll come and find me.
Despite my reasoning, I do feel bad. Just … not bad enough.
I find myself hugging the back of Luin, using the edge of the cliff to guide me as I go. The bustle of the town is dampened back here, easing the sharpness behind my eyes as I pass the nook that housed the Katz in the game. It's unmanned, though judging by the array of paraphernalia and goods they do appear to have a presence. Despite its solitude, the stand and flags are well-maintained, hand-patched and sewn, showing their age proudly.
For whatever reason, I find myself climbing the stairs that lead to the cliff head, steadying myself with the rocks in lieu of the non-existent handlebars and ignoring how the wood creaks beneath my feet.
I hiss when my knees knock against a chunk of stone, almost knocking me off balance. "Ouch!"
Once situated, I pull the remainder of my body atop the rock. The sky stretches high overhead, a canvas of blue speckled by great splashes of white as the clouds are beckoned forward by the wind, easing the tension between my shoulders. Off in the distance looms the Tower of Salvation, as stoic as ever. In its shadows is something smaller, not quite as grand—a trick of the eye, even, so diminutive that, should I blink, it might just vanish.
I squint, attempting to make out what it might be yet, despite the clear weather, my attempts only further its disillusion. The only thing it could be is the Tower of Mana, unless the game and map had both forgone mentioning a third tower in the region.
I shrug off my bag and reach for the calendar and pen I procured. There are more important things to focus on. Today is …
What is today? I know for certain it's summer, but what month? I can also say for certain it wasn't summer the last time I was on Earth, but—honestly, that doesn't matter; I can't allow it to matter. Not now.
"Damn …" I sigh. Looks like I'll be bothering Sheena again tonight. I should've asked that kid Luke; I'm certain he'd have looked at me like some lunatic, but better him than Sheena.
Too late now, though.
Still; without today's date, I'm at a complete standstill. All I'm left with is Earth's calendar—figuring out the current day back home; a task even more impossible than this one.
What year was it? That, at least, comes easily—2013. What month of the year?
It's there that I hit a wall.
February. I bury my face in my bag, the calendar forgotten about, desperate to drown out the sunlight drilling through my skull. No, that isn't right—it definitely wasn't February. That, I'm certain of. It wasn't the dead of summer, nor the harshest bowels of winter; nor was it the month of my birth, of my brother's birth, my parent's, or my grandparent's.
Yet as the list grows, so does my unease. Unfamiliarity looms overhead, reflecting off fading rays of sunlight. That—day. Was it sunny, or cloudy? Rainy? Snowy—it never snows—or hailing, or perhaps a combination of the above? Was it a school day, or a weekend? Break?
I cradle my head delicately. The last exam I took left all my classmates complaining, remarking it was too early in the semester for such a difficult exam. Considering the year always started in September …
October? I swallow. The month is satisfying, to some extent; at the very least, it doesn't feel wrong, which is more than I can say for every other month of the year. Early in the semester probably shortens it to a week and a half.
I wrack my brain desperately for something, anything else that might narrow down the time frame any further—… only to come up empty. Inundated by the sun, it takes several attempts to find my voice—yet when I do, I'm shocked by how steady it sounds.
"Hey, James. If you're still listening, s-somehow. Can I," I swallow, "c-can I ask that—q-question now?"
Silence, of course. Nothing but solitude answers my plea, as profound of a silence as it was that very first night, following his departure. Bitterness bites the back of my throat as I grit my teeth, tickling my spine as I lay back, cradle my bag to my chest, and curl in on myself.
When I next sit up the sun has begun to set, casting the sky in mellow halos of red and orange gradients as the sun settles into the skyline, promising twilight from beyond its broad, whimsical clouds. The headache from earlier has dampened in intensity, though I'm certain that it's only a matter of time until it reignites with a fury.
I've been out far longer than anticipated.
October 12th. For some reason, the date immediately comes to mind—it feels right, despite falling outside the boundaries I set.
I sit up and swap the calendar for the notebook I purchased earlier.
It's how Sheena finds me, scribbling useless things in the notebook, still huddled up on the cliffside that looks over the Katz base. It's only when she calls out my name that I realize she's there and, even then, it takes me a moment.
"What are you doing up there?"
In return, I ask, "What's the date?"
"The date? Uh, the 15th, I think, why?"
"The-the 15th of what …?"
"July."
I scribble that into the margin of the page, on the off chance I forget before I can make a note of it in the calendar. "What about—"
"Have you been up there this whole time?"
I shrug my shoulders to my ears and pack away my things. My legs tremble as I stand, the telltale feeling of static alerting me to the fact that my foot is asleep; it's a miracle I don't fall on my face when I jump down from the top of the stairway. "I thought you already went to the inn."
"I could say the same for you. Weren't you supposed to come and find me after?"
"Eh …" I shrug. "Sorry, I got distracted."
"By what?"
My own screwed-up memories. Hah, if only that were a valid answer. I fell asleep again. As if I'll be telling Sheena that. "Just a headache. I thought the fresh air might help."
"A headache? Do you still have it?"
"No," I lie. There's never not a part of my body that hurts; if it's not a headache it's muscle spasms, some phantom pain, a random jolt through some limb—my body, it appears, has not taken kindly to mana. "It's gone now."
Once we're settled in the room, my thoughts wander back to the calendar, to the look on Sheena's face when I asked her the date. Something sour squirms against the base of my spine, cold and bitter. To have such a look directed my way, by Sheena nonetheless, leaves my insides curdling in shame.
"So, um." My voice cracks—I swallow and try again. "W-What do you think? About Luin."
"It's nice. Much different than those other two. Luin feels …" She pauses, thinking. "Alive."
I nod. "Everyone here seems much happier."
Sheena agrees, "They're smiling." Something odd passes her expression, something I don't recognize, similar to the one that had appeared the night before we departed Triet.
I avert my eyes quickly. When she next speaks, it's of something else entirely. "Did you hear anything about the Chosen's whereabouts?"
Oh.
"Um."
No, not at all—as if anyone in Luin would have anything useful to tell in the first place. Still, I attempt to visualize the Palmacosta region, overlaying it across the path we took. If I remember right, passing through Hakonesia Peak should require two round trips, a trip to the Thoda Geyser, and a trip to the Palmacosta Human Ranch.
… Shit. The Human Ranch; that came after the first round trip, but—no, if they'd blown up the Ranch then I'd have heard something about it, wouldn't I? Where are they?
"I." I swallow and hope I'm not overestimating their travel speed."I-I—heard. Something about, about a … about an attack on Palmaco—Palmacosta? Palmacosta. It was something about an, a …" I struggle unable to force the words from my mouth, "a p-public e-ex—execution."
"Apparently, the Chosen's group arrived just in time to save the woman's life." I squeeze my hands into fists, swallowing thickly as disgust rises in my throat. The cruelty of the Desians is nothing to scoff at.
"A public execution? That's …"
"W-What about you? Did you …?"
"Unfortunately not. I'm heading out again later."
I blink, finally able to raise my gaze from my hands. "Where are you going?"
"Just to the tavern."
"Oh." I hesitate. "I, I don't have to come, do I …?"
Dryly, Sheena replies, "If you do, the only thing you're getting is water."
A loud tavern, filled with drunken travellers, workers, and townsmen? … No thanks. "Uh, I'll pass. When are you leaving?"
"After sunset."
"I see. In that case, can you," I struggle, unsure how to go about requesting the information I'm looking for. No matter how I word it, it sounds stupid. What day was it when I met you? What was the date when you found me in that field?
There's really no way to ask such a question without coming across as a complete idiot, is there?
"Can you, can I—" I squeeze my hands into fists. "C-Can I ask you something?"
"What's up?"
I breathe in deeply, holding it in my chest before releasing it. Then, "What day was it? When, when we first met?"
Sheena blinks. "What?"
"The date. I," I wince. Swallow, but it doesn't help. "My memory, it's—screwed, honestly. Earlier, when you found me on the roof—that's what I was working on. I was trying to retrace everything that's happened since I woke up."
"Woke up?" She repeats, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Oh. A tremor races down my spine. Oh, no. That was not the wording I wanted to use, not at all. "S-Since I woke up in that field," I reply, a touch too quickly, feeling the tremor of my heart behind my breastbone.
"That should have been, hm. Let's see … my meeting was on the 24th …" She thinks to herself for several seconds before speaking once more. "That should've been the 21st."
"Of June?" She nods. "June 21st … it's already been almost a month?"
I almost can't believe it. A month, and yet I'm no closer to home than I was when I arrived. No closer to fixing my memories or finding out what happened—how long will I be stuck here?
Forever. The thought comes, sudden and abrupt, practically blindsiding me; and with it a rush of dismayed fury because I refuse to spend my life here, in these two worlds, with a fractured memory, away from my family, friends, and home.
I refuse. I'll carve my own way home if I have to.
"Thanks." From that word comes the bitter, burnt remains of composure that temper my anger into something more manageable.
"Do you want some help?" I'm taken aback by the offer—for a moment, I can't help but wonder if it's a trick, a thought I'm quick to slap away because this is Sheena. What reason would she have to trick me?
"… Yes, please." We move over to the single table in the room so I can lay out my calendar and she pulls the chair up beside mine. "Sorry."
It's—nice to have help. What isn't nice is revealing just how utterly fucked my memory is to Sheena. Her memory is whole, rather than in pieces and, every time she corrects me on something I can feel my stomach twist itself tighter into a knot until it feels like I might die on the spot. Humiliating doesn't even begin to explain the feeling.
For what must be the umpteenth time, I find myself mumbling out a pathetic, "Sorry. I know it's bad."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Sheena replies, exasperated. "Your memory isn't that bad."
"It's still bad, though…"
Then, when today comes around, with shaking fingers, I find myself writing—'Walnut & Chestnut returned.'
"My cats," I explain, before Sheena can ask. "Walnut and Chestnut—I remembered them a few hours ago. It's not much, but …"
"Hey, it's something." She offers a smile, reassuring and comforting to my nerves, and I return it as best I can. "What else do you remember about them?"
I open my mouth to speak—then pause. My cats … what else do I remember?
"Walnut's white and brown; well, his coat is white, but he has brown points. He's long-haired." I twirl the pen in my hand as I speak. "He—hah, he loves to play. As a kitten, he had so much energy; he'd chase our ankles, eat our hair—even my grandpa's! And his meow, it's," I can't help but laugh, as short-lived as it is. "It's so high, he's like a baby. He whines like one, too."
Grandpa? The word registers a moment too late. Stunned, all I can do is blink, staring down at the calendar as my mind whirrs, struggling to catch up because shit, I'm not supposed to know I have a grandpa. I'm supposed to have total amnesia.
"Did you live with your grandpa?"
"I," I shrug, "I don't know."
Despite the stiff words, Sheena doesn't seem inclined to press for more information. Perhaps my reaction is strange enough to satiate any curiosity she may have.
It's difficult to continue, but I somehow manage. "Chestnut … well, he's the opposite. He'll spend the whole day sleeping on our lap. Walnut's not as crazy as he was as a kitten, but he does still have quite a bit of energy. But Chesnut—he's a potato. He'll let you carry him around, just so he doesn't have to walk." Despite my unease, my smile grows. "He has an extra thumb, too."
"An extra thumb?"
"Mm. His front paws both have an extra thumb. … He's great," I say. "They both are."
"You'll see them again," Sheena finally says. For some reason, the words catch me off-guard. A part of me is tempted not to respond—because, despite what she may believe, there really is no guarantee for me. There's no guarantee I'll walk out of Sylvarant or Tethe'alla; that I'll ever get back to Earth.
Don't think that way, I tell myself, order myself; because if I broke down in Hima because my mind attempted to move on from Earth, I'd simply do my best to prevent myself from moving on in the first place. So instead, I force myself to speak—
"As long as there's a home to return to. Right?"
"Yeah. … If Sylvarant's Chosen succeeds, Tethe'alla will become the declining world. The future of Tethe'alla rests on our shoulders."
I just nod. Even now, after only a few weeks of travelling around Sylvarant, I can hear it in her voice; Sheena isn't certain. Her heart is too good—she's too compassionate to sacrifice an entire planet for her own, no matter how hard she tells herself it's necessary.
Even as she fights, charging forward and planning Colette's demise, her confidence wavers.
"It's getting late, I should get going." Indeed, the sun has all but set; the flickering candlelight is just enough to make out the calendar markings. "Don't forget to eat dinner—and don't stay up too late, alright? You better not get in the habit of sleeping in."
"Okay, okay, I won't." I wave as she goes, lighting an additional candle before bringing it and my notebook over to the table, flipping to the page I'd abandoned earlier. Comparing them to the calendar that Sheena helped me fill out, it's almost pathetic. At least, should there ever come a day when I do find out the current day on Earth, I can trace the days there, too.
… At least I can try to piece together what has happened since that initial day, October 12th. After all, I didn't just appear here by chance. No; someone put me here. My hair's length, the multitude of scars adorning the entirety of my body, the voice in my head and my ability to use magic; of all things aren't a coincidence.
… Wait a minute. Something clicks, a memory I'd glanced over. That very first night, when James first reached out to me, he hadn't just mentioned mana. He'd also mentioned something about …
An object on my neck. I slide my hand around the back of my neck, feeling it once more; it's just as uncomfortable as it was that evening. I'd all but forgotten about it, too wrapped up in my previous predicament to spare it a thought. He'd told me to ignore it; not to touch or fiddle with it.
Yet, I find myself doing exactly that, my nails scratching against the edge of the crest, then the stone itself, tracing the individual runes etched into the surface. I need a mirror—yet, the general shop I visited earlier is very likely closed at this hour. I may be able to find the innkeeper, but there's no guarantee they would have one, and I'm certain they wouldn't appreciate being disturbed by a teenager.
Hesitantly, I spare a look at Sheena's bag. I've never seen her using a hand mirror of any sort, but I don't pay much attention to her morning routine while we're travelling; I prefer to get as much sleep as possible instead. If she has one—if I used it and returned it before she returns back …
Don't do it. I shiver, flattening my palm against the back of my neck, ignoring the smooth, spherical outline against my skin. Just wait until the morning.
It's a much smarter idea. Yet something inside me croons to tear away the veil that covers my eyes and peer into the depths of the fog. Begging, beguiling, promising satiety if I give in to its curiosity. Safety, knowledge, understanding and reprieve and everything else that has been stolen from me.
It can wait. This is not the end of the world.
It doesn't settle, not entirely. Yet by the time I drag the candles, notebook, and myself back over to the bed, I feel significantly more in control. I swap the notebook for the novel I bought back in Triet, one I've been neglecting as of late, and crack it open.
I should change, I know. But for now … for now, I'll allow myself to unwind, soothe my nerves, and settle into something calmer. Hopefully, by then, these frantic urges will have settled.
Yes. I skim the first paragraph of the page I flipped to, only to flip back a few pages so I can refresh my memory. Just relax for now.
"A hand mirror? Uh, that's not really our thing," Luke tells me the next day, when I drop by to buy one. "Klaus sells them, but he's out of town—Klaus is the barber," he adds, upon spotting my befuddled expression.
My brow furrows. "The barber sells hand mirrors?"
"Yeah, it's one of his side jobs. He carves the covers from clams he catches near the Tower of Mana."
"Clams …?"
"Oh and the glass—he says it's goddess-kissed, but it's actually just from the beaches he gets the clams from. Don't listen to his spiel."
" … Goddess-kissed …?"
"But yeah, he's out of town right now, so you don't have to worry about that. He travels a lot; he's a part-time barber, part-time salesman, and a part-time wanderer … I was gonna ask him to bring my uncle's letter to Asgard, but he vanished in the middle of the night."
"Is," I hesitate. "Is that normal?"
"Oh, yeah. Klaus never leaves on time."
Were any of Luin's residents this strange in the game, or is this a byproduct of my existence? Is it just this … particular resident that is beyond unusual?
"Is there anyone else who I can buy a mirror from besides Klaus …?"
"Not really. You could try asking Gunther—he's the old guy who runs Crossroads next door, but he's superstitious."
"I … see." I edge my way back toward the door, more than ready to get the hell out of the store. "Well. I-I'll be going, then—"
"Wait!" I wince. "Can you do something else for me?"
" … Depends."
"Klaus has a cat he takes care of when he's around. He lives off the square, near the fishing docks; there are some plants on his porch. Whenever he's gone me and some other guys take turns feeding his cat. I was supposed to this morning but, I, uh … forgot." He grabs a small cloth bag out of his satchel. "The cat still needs to eat, but I can't really leave. You can't miss him; he's dark as a ghoul."
Reluctantly, I agree, with a sigh. "Do I get more candy?"
"Seriously?" I shrug, not intending on pushing it, but before I can say anything he's already making his way toward the shelves. "Fine, here. So anyways, just take the stairs to the balcony and leave the food for the cat, he'll come out. He likes people, but he also likes wandering around."
I take the small bag he offers; more hard candy, and, after tucking them away, go on my way. As I exit, I eye the item shop at its side, considering whether I want to check. In the end, though, I decide against it.
Klaus' place; off near the fishing dock with some plants on his porch … What a rough description. Still, I do my best, heading towards the town square. An older gentleman points me toward the fishing docs when it becomes palpable just how lost I am. As I go, I pass several giggling children, hidden behind a variety of different objects. Barrels, stands, bushes; one is even crouched in a docked fishing boat with his hands crossed over his chest and a tarp over his head.
"Is Sheena looking for you?" I ask, curious. I'm met with a series of furious hushes that all but confirm she is and I have to bite back a smile as I reply, "Don't worry, my lips are sealed."
It doesn't take long to find Klaus' house. As it turns out, when Luke claimed he has, 'plants on his porch,' he failed to mention that those plants were an entire garden variety of vines, flowers, fruits, and sprouts. A multitude of bees buzz overhead, pollinating the flowers, and I'm suddenly aware of how he could 'forget' to feed the cat.
"If you're looking for Klaus, he's out." I turn to look at the voice, instinctively stepping away. "A trim or something else?"
I shake my head and hold up the pouch Luke handed me. Thankfully, it's enough, because he nods and motions towards the back of the house. "Binky hangs out back when he's tired, you'll find his bowls there. He'll come if you call."
I blink. "His name is Binky?"
"Klaus has never been good with names."
I find two bowls around the back, just as expected, as well as a small water pail that I fill at the lake before retreating back to the house. Only then do I open the bag and dump its contents into the one bowl, ignoring the stench of raw fish, and go about filling the other with water.
No Binky in sight. He'll come if you call, the stranger said; He likes wandering, said Luke. Then again, Luke also instructed me to go up and onto the bee-infested porch, so …
"Binky," I call as I get to my feet, clicking my tongue the same way I would for my own cats. "Are you hungry?"
No response.
"Bi—nky," I try, sweetening my voice. "Where's the sweet kitty?" I wince, muttering, "… That sounds weird. Hey, Binky—want a treat?"
Seconds pass, turning to minutes, and yet the cat remains unseen. I should leave and go do what I'm supposed to do, rather than hang around to see Binky, but …
… I really, really want to see the cat.
Finally, I hear it; a small, high-pitched, "Mreow," from overhead. I crane my head back. Binky is, indeed, on the porch; somewhat, that is. He's seated on the obscenely tall and thin upholstery that juts from the banister, supporting vines and hanging plants.
He looks down and offers yet another meow before leaping onto the roof and scaling his way down, digging into his food once all four paws are on solid ground again. He cleans himself between bites and, despite knowing I should go on my way, I can't help but linger.
"Hi, Binky." My voice is softer than I expect. "Thank you for the help yesterday; who knows when I'd have remembered my own cats if not for you." If ever.
His ears twitch as I speak, crouching down at his side. "Of course, you're a cat. It's not like any of what I'm saying to you matters, right? … I don't know what cat breeds these worlds have. Maybe they're one-to-one with Earth, or maybe they don't exist at all. I can't even be honest about the single memory that's come back to me."
He bumps his head against my knuckles—in return, I pet along the side of his face, massaging behind his ears. "Walnut's a Himalayan, which is a mountain range where I'm from. Chestnut … he's a ragdoll. Tethe'alla probably has that breed, or at least something like it but … who knows?"
I'm too scared to risk it. It's the unfortunate truth. A purposeful slip is too big of a risk; I must save that for the accidental mistakes, the ones that escape without thinking, that I don't recognize until later, or even at all. My safety in this world isn't guaranteed, after all. The only thing keeping me here is myself.
Binky meows in response, the sound vibrating through the tips of my fingers before he pulls away and returns to his food. "Thanks for listening, Binky. Eat well." I offer one final pet before getting to my feet. Then, I take a moment to breathe, feeling the bubble of air in my chest, how it presses against my sternum with each passing second.
And then, I'm off.
"Welcome back," I greet when Sheena returns that evening, swallowing my nerves and preparing to draw upon the courage I've been gathering for the last several hours.
"Thanks," Sheena replies. Before I can hope to say anything else, she's speaking again. "So … I'm gonna be gone for a few days. I'll leave some gald for you to rent out a single room until I'm back."
Huh. I blink. "What?"
"I met this guy—" What!? "His name is Pietro; he's an escapee from the Human Ranch. He's asked me to accompany him to Hima."
Oh. Pietro … the guy who escapes the Ranch, only to be hit with a rare malady that requires the Unicorn Horn to cure—I can't remember just why he was relevant, beyond having the Desian orb to enter the Ranch the second time around.
What I do remember is that he was responsible for Luin ending up in shambles.
… No. That's not fair. It wasn't Pietro's fault Luin is attacked; he was far from the first prisoner Luin had taken in and, had Kvar not retaliated, he wouldn't have been the last. Had the Chosen's group failed to take care of the Ranch and Luin succeeded in rebuilding itself, I'm sure it would have continued fostering escapees.
"Is he … okay?" Considering everything else I've seen thus far, I can only imagine the true reality of how grim Pietro's condition must be. I'm sure the game did him no justice. "Is he strong enough to travel?"
"We're travelling horseback, so he won't have to strain himself." I nod. "He's … in better shape than he was, according to Sarah, but he's still pretty weak."
"Can I see you guys off?"
"Of course. I'll wake you up." I nod, offering a half-hearted 'thanks,' before digging my book from my bag and allowing myself to be whisked away by the pages.
Pietro's condition is—startling. There's really no other way to put it. He's well-groomed, his face shaved and clean; his hair is brushed, well-kept, and trimmed, and his clothes are tidy but beneath all that is an ominous sight. There's no hiding his sallow silhouette, the gaunt hollows of his cheekbones as he talks; veins in his wrist and tendons that pop as he chats with the woman introduced to me as Sarah.
Nausea swells in my gut. How could someone, anyone do this to another person? How could the Desians treat someone like this? If this is how he looks after weeks of recovery in Luin, I don't even want to imagine his state when he first escaped.
"We're not charging him, are we?"
"Wh—of course, not!" Though hushed, Sheena's reply is still plenty outraged, offended by the assumption. "What kind of person do you think I am!?"
"I-I know, I know! That's, that's not what I meant—" I stammer in an equally hushed voice. "I was just asking—confirming. I-I know you wouldn't charge him."
Thankfully, Sheena lets it drop with a huff and nothing more. For a moment, I was certain I was done for; I've yet to be subjected to any violence, but the game hadn't pulled any punches when it came to Sheena's temper …
My skull twinges. Don't even risk it.
"Why don't we travel horseback?" I ask, watching as the stable master finishes prepping the two horses. "Asgard is pretty far … should we be renting horses too?"
"Uh … no, that'd be steep. The only reason he's riding horseback is because the owner of the livery waved the fees."
"Oh." I ask, "How steep?"
"750 gald per day, per horse." I grimace. Steep, indeed. "Paid up front, of course."
"I get it … I bet 'indefinite' isn't an option either."
Sarah calls Sheena over then. I'm hesitant to follow, unsure if I have any right to do so; I'm not the one going, after all. Yet, when I make no motion to move, Sheena looks at me strangely, prompting me to hurry after her. I drown the majority of what's said out. There's no real point in listening, after all; no one is going to scold me if I let my thoughts wander, not this time.
It'll be nice to rest a bit, I tell myself, looking up at the morning sky. The sun has yet to cross the horizon, with hints of the evening still lingering despite the rapidly approaching hour. Take a break.
Yet, at the same time; what do I have to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs? Without Sheena around, I don't have much of anyone to talk to and, without travelling, neither do I have anything to do.
… To think; just weeks ago I'd have killed to lay around and do absolutely nothing for a few days. Now, though, I can't even begin to imagine how I'll fill those hours.
As Sheena and Pietro finally prepare to leave, I offer one last, "Travel safely."
In return, Sheena replies, "Thanks. Try not to fall asleep in any strange places while I'm gone."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I won't."
"That includes on top of small cliffs."
"Wh—what? How did you …" Then, "W-Wait—hey, hold on, I didn't fall asleep up there …!"
By the time our laughter dies away, I feel marginally lighter. All I can hope for is that the upcoming days pass quickly and uneventfully; then, upon her return, we can continue on our way to Asgard.
Before they depart, I offer a single, "Good luck, Pietro. Stay safe." He looks at me oddly at first; only for something akin to realization to flash across his face. Whatever it might mean, I'm not sure, and I'm not going to ask.
"Thank you."
With that, they're off, departing into the rising sunlight as dawn approaches in the distance.