"Portman, what is this?"
"gentlemen."
"You two get the call, you two take the case. You know the spin. It's that simple. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, sir."
"Look, I get it. It's a runaway teenager. It's troublesome, but someone has to deal with it."
"...Sir, if I understand correctly, that father is your personal friend, right?"
"I'm busy. Get to work."
I tapped the screen to end the call, Matt's last words still ringing in my ears. He can be a jerk sometimes, but he's usually smart and he's in charge. I don’t want to know the answer at this point. But I definitely didn’t get much sleep. Especially when a migraine strikes me out of the blue.
I put down my phone, plugged it in to charge, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes, a headache erupting from my head. The light from the screen in front of me penetrated my eyelids, making me very annoyed. I lifted one foot and used my toes to turn them off one by one. The blessed darkness returned to the room and the only sound was the white noise from my desk fan. On any other day, they'd annoy me and be much louder than they need to be - but today, I wanted something to mask all the background noise.
I'm back and I hate every damn second of it. The world sucks.
Even the smell was wrong. It smells too clean, too fake. I had missed the dense forests and towering mountains, the castles and villages, the market squares and festivals. Yeah, it might smell bad for a while, but in the end, it's pretty charming. It has more character than my dusty room. And the people.
O God, O people. At their best, they're actually interesting, have stories to tell, and have lives that really matter. Worst case scenario, I have a lot of ways to deal with them.
Tomorrow is going to be really bad. I didn't like school from the beginning. I always feel like it's a waste of time. I already knew everything I needed to know, but I had to sit there and listen to lectures and classes while the teachers droned on endlessly. I had to wade through a pile of nonsense just to get a few pieces of actually useful information. The internet has taught me more than they ever could.
Despair left a ray of comfort in my mind. I can access the Internet again. Once you've lived without electricity for years, you really realize what a beautiful and awesome invention it is. With just a few taps on a plastic keyboard, I can instantly communicate with anyone, anywhere in the world.
I had just come back from a world where the fastest way to communicate (excluding risk taking and expending magical talent) was on horseback, and the idea was shocking. Organizing soldiers hundreds of miles apart into an effective fighting force is inherently difficult, and horses tire faster than you might think. The lands I helped conquer can attest to that.
I was sitting, reminiscing about past battles, when there was a knock on my bedroom door.
Oh, shit.
"Karl?"
Oh, shit. It's my dad.
"Karl, what are you doing so late?"
Can I pretend I'm really asleep? The lights are off. I doubt he ever really came. This seems to be the best option.
"I heard you. You know you can't be up so late."
Ignore him. Continue to ignore him.
"We'll talk about this tomorrow, young man." I heard him walk away, his heavy footsteps gradually disappearing into the night.
Young man? Does he know who he's talking to? I can,
No, wait. I can not. I don't feel that way anymore.
Without warning, tears formed in my eyes. I cried silently. I've been feeling this way since I woke up. It builds up slowly and steadily, like the tide rolling in, the waves rising higher and higher. Everything I had worked hard for, all the training I had put in... was gone. Overnight, I went from being one of the most feared figures in many kingdoms to...this.
I raised an arm and opened my eyes to examine them carefully. It is thin and weak. Of course, I can still lift quite a few things. I'm not very weak, but relatively speaking...
I decided to do something. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I leaned forward and turned the screen back on. It's time to get to work. I need information. I need to know what the hell just happened.
I started taking notes. We apparently disappeared in one place and came back in another, only a few hours apart. In such a short time, seven years have passed. As we grow up, we change physically and mentally, but the physical changes completely disappear. This can all be easily explained by magic, for better or for worse. The magic was real in Sierraville, and it somehow leaked out, trapping us in its web for seven years. The best seven years of my life.
damn it.
I went to the search engine, but as I expected, my search was in vain. Every "Cy" I can think of
aveil" all brought up only what I expected: articles about the park and the forest within. I gave it a cursory glance, but found no clues. Anyway, I started organizing the bookmark folder for future use to. I expanded my search, adding a few small details about the world beyond, but got empty results or vague connections to fantasy novels and games that I already knew were useless.
But in a way, I'm still happy. Despite years of neglect, I'm still familiar with the Internet. I might not find anything, but at least I know how not to look. I dug into old forums and ancient message boards, looking for posts from years ago. It felt like working with Rainier again, digging up ancient scrolls in the castle's basement. I was getting more and more desperate now, and with it came a sense of paranoia.
Matt is right, we need to be careful. If people didn't believe us, we would definitely be in a mental hospital. I shudder at the thought. Trapped in a colorless, faded building, clean and sterile, with no freedom and the whole world thinking you're a mess? I'd rather kill myself.
But there is another extreme. What if they really believe us? We could be hunted by anyone. There are many governments that might seize this opportunity to develop a whole new world filled with valuable resources. And magic? What world power doesn’t want magic on its side?
No, I have to cover my tracks. I enabled all security measures available at the time, routed the connection through multiple private networks, and ensured everything was encrypted end-to-end. No one knows where my posts come from.
I started replying to abandoned posts on old fantasy message boards from people who claimed to have actually been to other worlds. Almost no one responded and most users thought they were crazy or just being a prank. I'm not going to disparage worlds just because they have the wrong name, or some incorrect details. They might have gone into hiding like me, or they might have gotten their news from ill-informed peasants and savages. For the really old boards, the ones that go back to before the millennium, I'll also email when I can.
I turned everything on, turned off the screen again, and slid back into bed. My brain is still spinning like a fan in my machine. Even though it had only been a few minutes, I was still inexplicably angry because my phone didn't show the results right away and I was flooded with emails from other travelers who were grateful and eager to connect with me. Of course, I could legitimately remind myself that it's already after two in the morning here, and it's after five in the morning on the East Coast, where most of the surfboards are. Few of these respondents, if they were still maintaining their accounts, were probably awake at this time, searching on search boards.
I have no idea. I need to find more people like me.
I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, and my phone remained stubbornly silent. Then, with a buzzing and vibrating sound, I heard my phone slide off the table and hit the floor.
I jumped out of bed and grabbed it eagerly.
It was 7am and my alarm went off.
＊＊＊
I didn't spend any time getting ready for school. I only have a little time and I have a lot of other things to do before I leave.
I immediately went back online and checked every post I made. No replies or updates, but that's not surprising. I really just wanted reassurance that I actually meant what I said and that I wasn't dreaming. The Internet doesn't lie.
Well, it does that often, and with gleeful malice, but it can't just erase my posts from existence. After all, nothing can really be deleted.
Feeling a little more relaxed now, I took out my phone and tried to collect my thoughts for the message I couldn't send the night before. I looked through my contacts and found Black, who was at the bottom of the list because his last name was Black. Sva
Tholm is such a great surname. I'm so jealous. Much better than Stockson.
Even Jen and Matt have better last names than me. Matthew Westin is average, but you can also be formidable if you have the right people behind you. After seeing Matt's work, trust me, he's the guy I'm looking for. I played well in my prime, but even if I was still at my best, I think I would have been able to draw with him. Apparently, not so much anymore.
Although Jen is Matt's sister, her last name is different from Matt's. Silve
dale, just like her mother's. Jennifer Spoon. Even her name is beautiful. I don’t know the story behind this disparity, but to be fair, before that night, I had almost no idea that Jean existed, and I didn’t meet the real Jean until about six years later.
I regret not meeting her sooner. Hindsight makes sense.
Blake, whose name matches his accent, was born and raised in Sweden. He was my best friend until the day they moved to Silicon Valley when he was ten. We met through an event at a small video game store where we both appeared on new expansion content on the same day. I spent several years looking for him after we broke up and now I feel like I'm back to those old days.
His father went to work early in the morning and his mother worked as a night nurse. None of them come home in the hours before school. I pressed the "call" button and my cell phone started connecting to their home calls.
I imagined it ringing, echoing through their house. I can picture it perfectly - every step on the stairs, every turn in the upstairs hallway. The carpet is dark green and the sofa is light blue. Blake's cat may be lounging on the mid-stairs landing, soaking up the sunshine. Sometimes I feel like their home is more familiar than my own.
Blake was unable to make the call. As the ringers gave up in vain, I heard Adela's voice on their answering machine.
"Thank you for calling Swatham Mansion. We are not here right now so please leave a message and we will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you!"
I reminded myself over and over that this was pointless. Black might be gone. It's time for me to go to school now. If I don't speed up, I'm going to be late.
But I have to leave a message. If I just left a blank message with my phone number in their caller ID record, I'd have a lot more follow-up to deal with. Better to move it now.
"Hi, I'm Carl. I just wanted to ask Blake something, but I guess he's already at school. Just ignore me."
I stood up and went to get my bag. As my hands grabbed the straps and pulled hard, I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I winced and stared at it blankly. My face started to heat up as I realized what was happening. It was embarrassing, even though no one saw my mistake.
Of course I couldn't lift it. I'm not strong anymore. My brain hadn't yet registered the atrophy of my muscles, the return to a weaker, younger body. I tried to pick up a bag filled with textbooks, laptops, school supplies, and notebooks. I have to work harder than before.
The heat on my face turned into frustrated anger. I shouldn't be like this. I have fought and bled for what I have accomplished, for the power I have gained. I returned to the miserable life I had long left behind. I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here anymore.
My father has gone to work. My mom was in the backyard weeding her garden. She left me a lunch on the kitchen table. She waved to me through the window. I grabbed the brown paper bag, waved to him, then turned and walked out the door. By now I only have 15 minutes to get to school, it's going to be a long jog.
Out the door, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. Suburbia was all around me, in all its prosaic glory. Garbage truck, billowing black smoke. News helicopters flew overhead with heavy blades. There are hundreds of cars in the distance, and the constant sound of female voices fills rush hour. Every bit of noise annoys me more. Sweet sounds, like the chirping of birds and the rustling of wind through the leaves that have yet to fall, are drowned out by the sound of a man working on a woodworking table saw in his garage, his door wide open. I glared at him as I walked by, but he didn't look up. Blake, who had always been proud of his woodwork, would have lambasted the man for how much money he wasted.
Blake.
I've been trying not to think about him. I had expressed my vague hopes to Matt the night before, but I knew I still had to mentally prepare myself for the alternative. I didn't expect to see him so soon. He took the bus from the other side of town every day and I couldn't see him until at least second period. Matt should have met him first in the first period. Matt was able to coordinate his plans and what we were going to do next.
What exactly is the plan? I haven’t learned that much yet. I checked it while I was getting dressed that morning, but I haven't gotten a response yet. I could do some more digging tonight, but so far the internet seems to be failing me. The library will be my next stop. Something, somewhere has the answers to what happened - and more importantly, how we can reverse it.
The walk to school went faster than I expected or wanted. Every bend, every street I've spent in this stupid place over the past few years is etched in my mind.
When this school came into view, it became a symbol of everything I hated most about the world. My eyes scanned the entire campus and saw the scene in front of me again. I thought I was over it for good. It was just a nightmare, and even then, as time went on, it completely faded away. It was almost overwhelming to be faced again with the hell I had escaped. If Blake, Jen, and Matt hadn't been waiting inside, I wouldn't have gone any further.
"Hey, Carl!"
I froze, but the voice wasn't unfriendly. It's Kyle, I used to consider him a friend. Someone I had forgotten about and definitely not the first party I was looking forward to today. I turned to greet him and he handed me a thick book. Dungeons and Dragons Handbook.
"Sorry it took so long to get it back," Kyle gasped. It was obvious that he had been chasing me as hard as he could. "Thank you. It would be helpful to have a hard copy for our meeting."
"Of course." I took off my backpack and stuffed it inside. It barely fits, but it's actually nothing compared to some of the magical tomes I've read over the past seven years. Of course, with my current arm strength, it puts a threatening load on my shoulders. I had to throw some away when I went to my locker. I closed the door and kept walking.
Dungeons & Dragons seems so...stale now. No amount of imagination and role-playing can possibly imagine how terrifying dragons can be in reality. The heat of their breath, or the violent gusts of wind with every flap of their wings. Awesome, in the most traditional sense.
As for dungeons, I've been to a few and owned many more. They often don't have any wealth, only other notable t-words: torture, terror, and tyranny. This is not a fun place to be. I avoid them as much as possible.
"Are you okay, man?" he asked, standing next to me, jolting me out of my memory.
"What?"
"Worthless. You're just more talkative than usual."
I didn't answer for a moment. Is it me? I'm trying to create a completely different image at Serraville. I had to struggle to remember who I was. Conversation is something I usually leave to counselors and servants. Matt’s reminder crept back into my head. We don’t know yet if we are safe. I have to maintain a certain level of normalcy. "How was the meeting?"
"Bullshit. They were arguing about the rules during a fight. It took us hours to finish. But it helps to have the book handy. It's easier to flip between actual pages than scroll on an e-book Much more.”
"Why not open the e-book in multiple windows at the same time?"
"Because the software is a piece of shit and you won't let me use it?"
“You know, you can overturn that.
"May I?"
"Sel
ou. "
Kyle stared at me. "Um?"
nonsense. Wrong language. I got used to talking to Jane and the concise etoli I learned from her
e. "It's very simple. I'll teach you how to do it when I have time."
"cool". Kyle looked around at the other groups of students pouring in. The bus had left and most of the kids were already inside. "Hey, have you seen Blake?"
My throat tightened. It took me a few seconds to put it back together. "You know he takes the bus, right?"
"he?"
"Yeah. He lives on the other side of Melbridge. Just off the off-ramp."
"Oh. Well. I thought he lived around here. I see him walking like this all the time."
I shook my head. "He comes to my house often."
"ah."
We continued walking in silence for a while. Kyle kept looking around like he was uncomfortable with me. This bothers me. We've been friends for many years, haven't we?
But I have changed. I'm not me anymore. I had sent that poor boy away long ago. I replaced him with someone stronger.
He reminded me of what I really needed to do. Who knows where my next clue will come from? No matter the odds, I have to pursue every possible avenue.
"Hey, Kyle..." I said casually. “Do you know Sierraville Park?”
"Really? What's wrong?" He didn't sound suspicious, but I could tell right away. I interrogated thousands of people. I negotiated with the best diplomats and nobles in the country. It's all his body language. His head turned subtly and his eyes quickened. His posture slipped slightly and he got defensive. He had something to hide, and he was doing a terrible job of hiding it.
"Have you been there at night?" I asked kindly.
"Ah, why?"
"Just curious."
Kyle swallowed loudly. He looked around again. "Yes, sometimes".
bingo. I was now circling my opponent, ready to strike. Kyle is a pushover. He will speak within seconds. I lowered my voice a little. Bossy. That's the tone, Rainier said. "Say it, Kyle."
"...You won't tell anyone, right?"
"Of course not." What's the use?
A look of embarrassment suddenly appeared on his face. "Kexie and I snuck out... um..."
Disappointment hit me like a mace. I hope to gain more. Now I just have a stuttering love-struck child with nothing useful to tell me.
"Ah." I patted his shoulder. "There you go. She's cute. Good for you."
I meant it, but I guess I came across it a little condescendingly. Kyle became irritable. "As if you're doing better."
"Oh, you don't know," I replied thoughtfully, thinking of the woman.
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Three-dimensional women, man."
"More 3D than you. Hair like glowing furnaces, more curves than a roller coaster." Still a spear-wielding killer and a total racist, but he didn't need to know that.
"What is the name of this imaginary beauty?"
"Aud O
u
dotti
. "
He raised his eyebrows. "Fantasy about Viking women?"
I laughed. To be honest, I don't know how the Selman family has so many Nordic-style names. The people there speak nothing but English (or as they say, Li
gue
) and won’t say anything else. There is a piece of their history that I still want to uncover, probably buried in a pile of scrolls under my house. "No, I've forgotten about her."
"Too weird for you?" Kyle grinned.
I sighed. "This pun went out of style years ago."
"It's nice to see you being so loyal to the girl of your dreams and staying by her side all these years."
"Hey, when I commit, I commit." That's true, even if it comes back to bite me in the ass. He ended up leaving me, not the other way around. I'm grateful she didn't decide to drive a spear through my spine before leaving. "But we digress. A kind of terry cloth, huh?"
Kyle's expression quickly turned back to embarrassment. "Yes."
I don't really remember anything about the girl other than her looks, but that's no reason not to root for her. Kyle needed this boost. "She looks perfect for you. Congratulations."
"Thanks, I guess?"
"Are you guys done yet?"
I thought his face couldn't get any redder, but he proved me wrong. "...What the hell, Carl?"
"What?"
Kyle shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He looked up when the five-minute bell rang. "Damn. I have to go to class early today. Goodbye." He left quickly, hurrying through the front door and leaving me alone again.
Oh, right. I became one of the neurotic virgins again. I shouldn't be so confident or confident. To Kyle, I must have ended up sounding like a completely different person.
Still, it was better than I expected. Maybe I can start over without anyone noticing. At least until we figure out how to go back. I reached into the school bag slung over my shoulder and flipped through the books and documents. I put everything out there the night before to prepare it for the next day. I am forever grateful to my past self for having the foresight because I had no idea what to bring today. With this, and my (admittedly hazy) recollection of what classes I took seven years ago, I had reason to believe that I could at least waffle on for a few days. I hope it's long enough for us to leave.
I walked in the front door and realized this was a ridiculous idea. At the intersection of two wings of the school, with classrooms on either side, there was only one room number that could give me any information. Each one looks exactly the same to me.
I had no idea where my first class would be.
