Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Wtf is Happening?
Xe black out briefly. Then with a crackle and snap, reality reasserts itself violently, sending xir sprawling. Where there was once xir home and all it entails, now there is a lush forest glade, parts of a ruined stone structure, possibly a crumbling temple, among the undergrowth and tall grass.
Xe looks around from where xe landed, hearing the birdsong and feeling the gentle breeze. Then xe hears the subtle creak of bowstrings being drawn taut. Lifting xir hands to show that xe are unarmed, “I don't have a weapon. Might I see who feels threatened or startled by my appearance?”
A branch snaps as a man appears, tanned from the outdoors, face lined with both age and struggles, facial tattoos marking him that look like a drawn bow, hair bound up and greying, and ears pointed. “First who are you? And how did you come to be here?” Blinking, xe starts to carefully lower xir hands, quickly raising them back up when his hand drifts to the sword at his waist, “my name is Zahir Drakkar. I don't actually know how I got here.”
He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing, “now why do I find that hard to believe.” Zahir sighs, shoulders slumping, “honest, I am telling the truth. One moment I am in my home, the next I am here.” He straightens up at hearing that, “what did you hear when it happened?” Xe tilts xir head, concentrating, “I heard a crackle, then a snap. Why?”
He sighs, relaxing his stance and gesturing something to the trees, the bows creaking as they are slowly relaxed. “We detected an artifact activating here. When we arrived we found the artifact, and then we found you.”
Zahir cautiously lowers xir hands to xir lap, “where and when is here?” He scrutinizes xir, “it is 9:40 Dragon, and you are in Arlathan Forest.” Xe shakily gets up as he asks, “why do you ask?” xe sigh, “so that I have something to work with. Chances are I will be unable to go home.” His breath catches, his brows furrowing in concern, “what was the calendar that you used?”
Xe looks around, catching sight of two youths watching the two of them, a young man and what appears to be his older sister. Zahir turns back to him, responding, “the year for me was 2025, and I lived on a farm, in a county, in a province, in a country, on a world named Earth.” He blinks, taken aback, the two observers glance between each other, wide-eyed.
Zahir turns to the observers, gently asking, “and who might the two of you be?” The girl squeaks, ducking down, pointed ears flushed bright. The boy ducks behind a bush, flushed with embarrassment. Xe looks at the man, confused, “did I say something wrong?” He chuckles, crossing his arms and relaxing, “no you didn't, they are still getting used to my group. My name is Strife, their names are Bellara and Cyrian Lutare.”
Xe blinks, “oh, so they are shy and not used to outsiders then?.” Strife nods, amused, and they both turn to the hiding spots of the two youths.
Zahir shakily hobbles a few steps and crouches down, sitting on a decent sized piece of rubble, “I won’t hurt you, either of you.” They peek out of their hiding spots, watching xir cautiously. Xe smiles reassuringly, “take your time, I won’t rush you.”
The girl cautiously comes out of hiding, curious but wary, her dark hair up in a bun, her facial tattoos nearly matching her brothers in looking like two stylized birds but not quite. Cyrian whispers frantically, reaching for her but missing, “Vora’shivan, don’t.” Bellara skirts around xir and hides slightly behind Strife, watching xir curiously. Zahir smiles softly, “hello, curious one.” She smiles shyly, asking curiously, “why are you dressed like that?”
Strife sighs and looks to the sky for patience, while Cyrian facepalms with an embarrassed groan. Zahir blinks and glances down at what xe are wearing; a loose pair of brown harem-style pants, knee-high black suede boots, a creamy yellow pirate-style shirt, a ruby red brocade corset vest, and a light brown satchel over xir shoulder with more clothes inside. Xe reaches back and feels xir hair, the actual length to just below the shoulder with a tied in black braid to xir knees, assorted charms added to the braid over time.
Xe looked back at her, “this is quite tame compared to what I put together sometimes.” Bellara blinks, while Cyrian chokes on air startled, and Strife furrows his brow looking back at xir, “it is?” Zahir nods, bringing xir braid forward to fiddle with it, “yep, I have gone more detailed, with many more layers than this.” Cyrian cautiously creeps over to stand by his sister. Warily watching xir, “so you are rich?” Xe snorts, shaking xir head, “no, I’m not. I am or was a farmer. Most of the fabrics are repurposed from household linens, and I sewed all but the corset, bag, and boots myself.”
The three of them just stare at xir. Xe shrug, “what? It was cheaper than buying new or used.” Strife shakes his head, bemused, “I never would have suspected you to be a farmer, or capable of-” he gestures at xir, “that.” Bellara giggles, while Cyrian just sighs, eyeing xir cautiously.
Then a voice says, “now this is unusual, two of the clans, another from the city and a human from a world unknown.” All of them startle, Zahir sliding off of the rubble with a startled curse, Cyrian getting slightly in front of Bellara, both of them drawing their bows taut, and Strife draws his sword, getting in front of both of them protectively. Watching them calmly, is what looks like a spectral person. Zahir gets up, brushing leaf litter from xir clothes, “and who might you be?” It smiles warmly, stepping closer to xir, “you ask the right question. I am a spirit of Honor. Your presence drew me close.”
Xe blink at the spirit, then look at the other three for some form of help in understanding. Strife groans in annoyance, sheathing his blade, “Such spirits are generally harmless, unless provoked.” Cyrian and Bellara slowly relax their bows, confused but curious. Zahir turns to face the spirit, “Why me?” The spirit tilts its head, smiling, “Because, no matter what, you hold true to your morals, your honor. When you make promises, you keep them. When you make threats, they are not idly made.”
The three elves tense up hearing the last sentence, and Zahir sighs exasperated, pinching the bridge of xir nose in annoyance. “Well that was blunter than I expected.” Xe faces the tense elves, “I am extremely hard to anger, and it takes a lot to get me to the point of making threats.” Narrowing his eyes, Cyrian strides over to xir, to protests from both Strife and Bellara. Zahir steps back, blinking in surprise. Grabbing hold of xir’s shirt ruffle, Cyrian yanks xir closer to him, glaring, “all shemlen are quick to anger. You are no different, woman.”
Xe freezes, lightly placing a hand on his forearm, briefly closing xir eyes before looking at him. “Would a ‘shemlen’ let you man-handle them without hitting you? And I do not identify as a woman, I use xe/xir instead of she/her.” Cyrian’s expression twists between rage, confusion and shock. “You aren’t going to react?” his expression settles on confusion, his grip loosening.
Zahir calmly watches him, “no, I am not.” He struggles for a moment, then looks at the other two plaintively, unsure of how to proceed. Strife warily approaches, Bellara on his heels, “you are unusual for a human, Zahir.” Xe shrugs carefully, cautious of Cyrian's grip on xir. “Not the first time I have been told that. Likely won't be the last either.”
Gently extracting xir’s shirt from his grip, Zahir carefully draws him into a loose hug. Loose enough, that if he wants, he can get out of it. Cyrian tenses up, rigid in xir hold, looking up at xir wide-eyed. Then he cautiously relaxes, heaving a sigh. Strife stops in his tracks, his face slack with shock, while Bellara gasps, her hand lifting to cover her mouth.