Somewhere deep within the forest.
Two figures emerged from the dense woodland, their forms moving with the particular precision of those accustomed to operating in shadow. The taller of the two led without urgency, his cloak—dark wool, travel-worn at the edges—shifting with each measured step. A hood was drawn low over his head, and beneath it, a mask obscured his features entirely, catching no light at all. He moved as though the path ahead had already been decided before he had set foot in the forest, each footfall placed with quiet certainty against the uneven ground.
Behind him, the younger one followed—short-haired, his cloak snagging briefly on low branches before he pulled it free. He moved well enough. But where the taller man's steps were deliberate, his were effortful. The difference was not one of ability. It was one of experience.
The temple ruin rose before them like the broken spine of something vast and patient. Stone walls, grey and crumbling, leaned against one another as though exhausted by the weight of their own existence. Moss and fern clung thickly to the masonry in velvet carpets of green and brown, the living slowly consuming the dead. Vines thick as a man's arm had wound themselves through cracks, breaking apart stone with patient, inexorable pressure. Tree branches penetrated the walls where they had grown through fissures, shattering stone bit by bit. Fallen bricks lay scattered across the ground, half-buried in soil and grass. The roof had partially collapsed, leaving a jagged wound open to the sky. What remained was fragmented, held together by the stubborn refusal of old architecture to surrender completely.
The forest pressed in on all sides—ancient, patient, reclaiming.
The younger one looked at the ruined temple with something close to satisfaction. "The job was pretty easy, wasn't it, Mr. Hector?" he said, his voice carrying the slight breathlessness of someone still riding the adrenaline of success.
The older man—Hector—did not respond immediately. He simply stood before the ruin, regarding it with the calm of someone who had already accounted for every detail and found none of them worth remarking on. When he spoke, his voice was measured, precise, stripped of everything that wasn't useful.
"Indeed. It was pretty easy."
A pause. The kind of silence that carries weight.
"Nico," he said. "Open the basement door."
Nico moved toward a section of the ruined ground near the temple's base. He crouched down and began brushing away leaves, small twigs, and branches that had accumulated over time. His fingers found the edge of a wooden door set into the earth. The door was weathered but solid, designed to withstand years of concealment.
He pulled.
The door opened with a long, deliberate creak—the sound of wood protesting against hinges that had not moved in far too long, a noise that seemed to linger in the damp forest air longer than it had any right to. Darkness yawned beneath, cold and patient, the particular darkness of spaces that had been sealed away from light for so long that they had learned to exist without it.
"First, we must make the report to Mr. Carlos," Hector said, his tone brooking no question.
They descended into darkness, their footsteps echoing on stone stairs worn smooth by countless feet. Below, the basement was surprisingly intact—its stone walls bearing the integrity of ancient construction. Candles burned in alcoves carved into the walls, their light casting dancing shadows across the space, creating a network of shifting geometry that seemed almost alive.
Near the entrance, a small table held two figures. One sat playing cards while the other watched, both occupied in their quiet vigil. They looked up as Hector and Nico approached, their expressions shifting from routine attention to immediate alertness.
"Call Mr. Carlos," Hector said, each word placed with the quiet certainty of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Tell him the relic has been successfully stolen."
A pause. The kind that matters.
"We await his instruction."
---
The washroom at Nick's house was modest but clean — the kind of space that spoke of careful maintenance rather than wealth. A cast iron tub sat against one wall, its white enamel worn but scrubbed. A ceramic washstand held a pitcher and basin, a small oval mirror hung above it, slightly fogged from the steam. Folded towels rested on a wooden rack nearby, and a single narrow window let in a strip of pale afternoon light. Everything was practical, everything had its place. The kind of washroom that belonged to a family that took care of what they had.
Aarav leaned against the edge of the tub, arms crossed.
"We need to talk," he said.
Rajan looked up. Veer opened his mouth.
"Shut up. Kids shouldn't talk when grown-ups are talking," Aarav said, with just enough edge that it wasn't entirely a joke.
Veer closed his mouth.
"First," Aarav said, "we still don't know much about this world. So don't go exposing ourselves to every friendly face we meet. We cannot trust strangers — even kind ones." He held up a second finger. "Second, I don't trust Ysolde. Something about her feels off. I'm not saying investigate her, I'm saying be cautious." A third finger. "Third, learn everything you can from your surroundings. Every detail. Because the faster we understand this world, the faster we go home."
Silence.
Veer shifted slightly, then said, "Yeah, we get it. But then..." he tilted his head, "why did you accept Ysolde's lunch offer? Isn't that risky?"
Aarav cleared his throat.
"Ahem." A brief pause. "You see... I don't think she has any ill intentions towards us. And she was offering free food." He said this with complete composure. "Food is important. We don't have enough money. And we were hungry. So. Yes."
Veer immediately turned to Rajan. "See! See! Didn't I tell you he would say exactly something like this?"
Rajan let out a quiet laugh. "Okay, okay. Let's go have lunch. We can think about everything else later."
---
Aarav pulled open the washroom door.
Nick was standing right outside, as though he had been waiting. He looked up at Aarav with the particular expression of someone who had just remembered something they should have mentioned earlier.
"I forgot to tell you," Nick said, "we don't have any extra clothes for you. I'm sorry." He paused. "And the towels — you can hang them out in the sunlight to dry."
"Understood," Aarav said.
"Also," Nick added, "lunch is ready."
---
The dining room was simple but warm. A rectangular wooden table occupied the center, chairs arranged around it with the kind of casual order that spoke of daily habit. A window let in the afternoon light, falling across the table in long pale strips.
Aarav came in and took in the room in one quiet sweep.
There were three new faces.
A man in his forties sat at the head of the table — broad-shouldered, with an unhurried quality about him, the kind of person who didn't fidget. Beside him sat a girl who looked around fifteen or sixteen, her posture straight, watching the newcomers with calm curiosity. And next to her, a small girl no older than eight, who was staring at Aarav with the completely unfiltered attention that only young children could manage without embarrassment.
Aarav pulled out a chair and sat down quietly.
A brief silence settled over the table.
Then the man spoke. "So," he said, his tone easy, "how are you now? Feeling better?"
Aarav looked at him. Something clicked immediately.
This is the man from before. The one I saw right before I collapsed.
"Yes," Aarav said. "Much better. You are probably..."
"Ah — sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner." The man smiled, the kind of smile that came naturally rather than by effort. "I'm Leo Dunsby. Nick's father. And these young ladies are my daughters." He gestured beside him. "The older one is Lily. The younger one is Liza."
Lily gave a small, composed nod. "Hello."
Liza stared for another moment, then remembered herself and nodded too, very seriously, as though greeting people was a matter of great importance.
Aarav nodded back. "Hello."
"Sorry that I couldn't return the favour of saving my child," Leo said, his expression carrying the particular weight of a father who understood exactly what could have happened differently.
"No, no, sir." Aarav shook his head. "That was just a very normal thing. Anyone would have helped. It's no big deal." He paused, then added, "And I don't think anyone would treat us to lunch like this. We should be the ones thanking you."
Leo nodded slowly. "Arlan, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you came here from Silva?" Leo asked. "Did you find any job yet?"
"No, sir," Aarav said, his tone measured and respectful. "But we believe we can find one. We would try our best."
He said it exactly the way a corporate employee would answer his boss — composed, confident, carrying just enough optimism to sound credible while revealing absolutely nothing about the actual situation.
Leo seemed to find it acceptable.
At that moment, Ysolde came in from the kitchen, followed by Nick's mother, followed by Lily — the three of them moving with the quiet efficiency of people who had done this many times before, setting dishes on the table one by one.
The smell reached Aarav before the plates did.
Leo gestured at the spread with a modest wave of his hand. "Although our lunch is not very exquisite, I can guarantee it would taste great. I hope you can enjoy it."
"Thank you for your kindness, sir," Aarav said.
---
The lunch had begun.
Leo, Ysolde and Nick had naturally gravitated toward Rajan and Veer, their conversation flowing with the easy warmth of people who had already spent time together. Aarav caught fragments of it — questions about their journey, Rajan answering with his usual careful diplomacy, Veer occasionally adding something that made Ysolde smile.
Aarav focused on his plate.
Or at least, he tried to.
He became aware, gradually, of a gaze. Steady. Unblinking. Coming from directly across the table.
He glanced up.
Lily was staring at him.
Why is she staring at me?
Aarav looked back down at his food and took a measured bite.
Why would she stare at me? Does she think I'm some kind of criminal?
He reached for the bread.
Hey, young lady. Didn't your parents teach you not to stare at strangers randomly?
He was mid-thought and mid-bite when it happened. The food went slightly the wrong way and Aarav choked — a brief, undignified moment that he would have preferred no witnesses to.
He reached quickly for his water and took a long sip.
"Arlan, are you okay?" Ysolde asked from across the table, her sharp eyes already on him.
"Yes, yes," Aarav said, clearing his throat. "I'm okay."
He set the cup down and returned to his plate with as much composure as he could recover.
The lunch was simple. Bread, a soup, a curry made from vegetables he couldn't entirely identify. Nothing that would have earned a second glance back home. Nothing that would have impressed anyone by modern standards.
And yet.
Aarav took another bite and paused.
It tasted like amrit — the nectar of immortality, the kind poets wrote about and mortals never actually got to taste. Something about it was unreasonably, almost offensively good. The bread was warm. The soup was rich in a way that had no business coming from something so plain. The curry carried flavours that were simple and honest and hit somewhere deep that packaged food and restaurant orders never quite reached.
He stared at his plate for a moment.
This doesn't make any sense.
He took another bite anyway.
---
Aarav set his spoon down and shifted his gaze to Ysolde.
"Lady Ysolde," he said, his tone respectful, "during the checkpoint inspection, the officers were talking about certain laws that a refugee needs to know." He paused. "Would you mind teaching me those laws? And perhaps a bit of proper history of Eloria, and the language as well?"
Ysolde considered him for a moment, her sharp eyes thoughtful.
"Well," she said slowly, "I can teach you. But the problem is I am mostly occupied with my clinical work. I don't know how much time I would actually be able to give you." She folded her hands on the table. "How about this — you help me at my clinic, and in return you can learn from me occasionally. I would pay you, of course."
Aarav listened carefully.
"But," Ysolde continued, raising a finger, "if you want to learn properly, I would suggest attending the night classes held at the church. That would be far more structured."
She smiled slightly. "As for right now — how about I give you a brief description after lunch?"
"Yes," Aarav said, nodding. "That would be very helpful."
A clinic. So she's a medical professional of some kind. That explains the authority in how she carries herself.
And the church holds night classes. Interesting.
He picked up his spoon again.
Free food. A job offer. And information.
Not a bad lunch.
---
The conversation had settled into a comfortable rhythm when it was interrupted.
A noise from outside — loud, urgent, the kind that cut through walls and quiet afternoons without asking permission. Multiple voices, overlapping, carrying the particular pitch of people who were either very excited or very alarmed.
The table went still.
Everyone looked toward the window.
"What happened outside?" Leo said, half rising from his chair.