Rowan returned to his apartment still cloaked in invisibility. The window slid open soundlessly, as if a ghost were breaking in. He stepped through and shut it behind him with a tired sigh, the illusion of stealth completely lost on his aching body.

  He stumbled to the couch and collapsed onto it. The frame groaned under the weight of his densely restructured muscle and bone, the result of a body far beyond ordinary human limits. As he exhaled, the techno-organic nanites that made up his suit began slithering back into his body, rippling like liquid metal beneath his skin. His bruised, swollen face was exposed beneath the receding armor, revealing the full toll of the fight.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of mana stones—loot collected from beasts he’d encountered on his way to Dev. The stones clinked as he tossed them onto the table, their neon-blue glow pulsing softly, casting eerie light across the room.

  “These solidified aether crystal matrices... fascinating,” Xy’Rosh mused, his voice vibrating in Rowan’s skull. “I’ve never seen anything like them. In the Dominion, aether is usually infused into materials or distilled into liquid form. This crystallized structure is unique to your world. These should allow me to recharge my reserves significantly faster than absorbing it from your environment. Though, for the record, your planet has appallingly low aether density.”

  “Just call 'em mana stones, spaceman. I’ve always hated jargon—especially all this aether crap. It’s mana. MA-NUHHH,” Rowan said, over-enunciating for effect.

  “Agree to disagree. I was honestly surprised your people could use aether at all, given how little of it there is here in the atmosphere—and directly through your bodies, no less. My species can’t do that. The nanites were our attempt to emulate that kind of flow.”

  The General paused, his thoughts drifting. For a brief moment, the constant snark in his voice softened as he recalled the reason he’d ended up on this planet in the first place. He trailed off mid-sentence, the link between them going quiet. Rowan noticed immediately.

  “You were gonna say something else,” he said gently.

  Xy’Rosh was quiet for a second, then continued, softer now. “Your people are almost like…”

  “Like who?” Rowan prompted. “The guys you were fighting up in space? The ones who wrecked your body so bad you had to upload yourself into your supersuit or basically die?”

  “It was a war, Rowan,” Xy’Rosh said evenly. “I was their General. I couldn’t afford to die.”

  “I… I’m sorry, Xy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “It’s alright,” Xy’Rosh replied after a pause. “I just… I miss home, Rowan.”

  Rowan sat quietly for a moment, then spoke with quiet conviction. “Hey. I promised I’d help you get back. And I intend to keep that promise.”

  “I… Thank you.”

  They let the silence linger, a rare moment of sincerity passing between them.

  “Hey Xy,” Rowan muttered, wincing as pain flared across his ribs. “How long’s it gonna take to fix all this? I feel like I got hit by a garbage truck doing top speed.”

  "Hmmm… at least a week, hooman", Xy’Rosh replied, his voice crackling in Rowan’s skull. "You think it felt bad out there—you should see what it looks like in here. Internal bleeding, hairline fractures, shattered cartilage, broken ribs. If I hadn’t been rerouting blood, making emergency shunts, and holding your bones together on the fly, you’d be feeling way worse."

  Xy’Rosh was essentially a walking hospital, a one-alien trauma center bonded to Rowan’s body. But even he couldn’t work miracles. He could hold the worst injuries together, sure—but full healing still depended on Rowan’s natural recovery and the nanites stitching him back together properly.

  Rowan groaned, tipping his head back against the cushion. “Cool. So… pain meds and nap it is.”

  "Not so fast, hooman." Xy’Rosh sounded almost offended. "In your wonderfully executed tactical retreat, you forgot to bring the boy. We still need to question him—figure out what he knows."

  “Dude, I can’t just kidnap people. We barely slipped past the agents and hunters. You think it would've been easier with a very visible guy floating on my shoulder?”

  "For your information, I could’ve cloaked him too."

  “That’s not the point. I don’t know how y’all do it in the Jargian Dominion or whatever, but here on Earth we’re supposed to keep a low profile. I’d prefer not to end up on a wanted poster.”

  "Varnian", Xy’Rosh corrected, huffing. "It’s the Varnian Dominion. You promised to help get me back—least you could do is get the name right."

  “Yeah? I’ll get your hometown right when you stop calling me ‘Hooman’"

  "Touché, hooman."

  “Anyway,” Rowan said, shifting slightly. “We couldn’t question the kid in the Gate, but we’ve got his name. Can’t you do your beep-boop-bop thing and track him? Find his place of residence, current location—something?”

  "That depends." Xy’Rosh’s tone turned snarky. "Would you prefer I ‘beep-boop-bop’ and find him, or keep your fragile body from collapsing in on itself in a wave of immeasurable pain?"

  Rowan winced and immediately adopted a mock-respectful tone. “Uh... could you do both, please, General sir?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He felt Xy’Rosh beam with pride through their neural link. The alien always liked being called General—it reminded him of home.

  "Fine", Xy’Rosh said, almost smug. "Only because listening to you groan and moan nonstop would make me want to initiate shutdown protocol. It’ll take a couple hours. I’ll start with hospital records—see if there’s a recent patient matching the name and description. Then I’ll do a deep dive, background check, the works. See if anything important shakes loose."

  “Sounds good. Let’s try to find this kid tomorrow, though—y’know, when I don’t feel like complete shit. His full name’s Devesh, by the way.”

  "Devesh Menon", Xy’Rosh repeated, already running scans.

  ……

  Dev sat on a gurney in the back of the ambulance, his body aching from the chaotic events of the gate. Around him, Pantheon agents hovered, bombarding him with an endless stream of questions—standard procedure after an incident like this. They wanted details on the gate, the people he encountered, and most pressing of all, his relationship with the mysterious, cyborg-like figure.

  Ironically, Dev probably had more questions about Xyros than they did, but he kept quiet, providing only vague, noncommittal answers when they pressed too closely. Things nearly took a turn for the worse when the agents discovered the mana stone and wraithbeast spit he had hidden. Thinking quickly, Dev switched into full-on Karen mode, loudly threatening lawsuits over "porter negligence" and demanding a supervisor. Eventually, the agents, exasperated and wary of causing a public relations nightmare, confiscated the mana stone but reluctantly returned the wraithbeast spit, likely assuming he’d sell it off later as some novelty trinket.

  After the interrogation wrapped up, the ambulance took him to the hospital, where he spent the rest of the day under observation. Exhausted, he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, his mind racing with plans and worries about the future.

  The following day brought even more stress. Dev had just finished a bland hospital breakfast when the door burst open violently, nearly flying off its hinges.

  “Bro!” a frantic voice yelled. “I was gone for two weeks—two weeks—on vacation! Why do I get a call the day I come back saying you’re injured in a goddamn Gate?”

  Standing in the doorway, breathing heavily, was Babak—his best friend, roommate, and emergency contact. Babak’s dark brown eyes were so deep they resembled pools of ink, narrowed now in a blend of anger and worry. His dark brown hair, styled casually into a middle part, was disheveled from rushing over. He wore a t-shirt sporting the Modelo logo, black cargo shorts, and flip-flops, clearly emphasizing how urgently he’d rushed to the hospital.

  Dev’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of his best friend. “Babs,” he said softly, voice breaking slightly. It had been so many years—far too long—since he’d last seen Babak alive. He hadn’t realized just how desperately he’d missed him until this moment.

  Babak strode quickly across the room to Dev’s hospital gurney, eyes blazing with urgency and concern. “Explanation—right now—or I’m calling your parents myself and telling them about this!”

  Dev stared up at Babak, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. Babak had always been there for him—the steady, unshakable presence he’d known since they were kids. through every breakup, every late night, every reckless decision. Dev remembered the sheer emptiness he felt in the old timeline when a gate broke open without warning in the middle of Manhattan, how utterly helpless he’d been upon receiving that call about Babak’s death.

  He felt his eyes sting with tears.

  Babak immediately softened, concern replacing the anger in his expression. “Whoa, whoa, I didn’t mean that—look, I know your parents would drive up here and probably kill you first, hug you second, but come on, man. Why would you do something this crazy? If money was the issue, you could’ve just hit me up. You know I’d never mind. You always say you feel like you're using me, but trust me, dude, I got the brea—”

  Before Babak could finish, Dev surged forward off the gurney and hugged him tightly, cutting off his anxious rambling.

  “Thank God you’re alive,” Dev whispered roughly.

  Babak, momentarily startled, quickly relaxed, patting Dev’s back reassuringly. “Hey, man. I know you think all finance bros do on vacation is smoke cigars and snort coke—but trust me, it was strictly booze and babes.” He paused, pulling back just enough to look Dev in the eyes. “Besides, I should be the one saying that. Talk to me, man. What the hell happened?”

  Dev gave Babak the abridged version of the events—leaving out any mention of future knowledge. He’d tell Babs eventually… just not yet. For now, he stuck to the essentials: the rogue hunters, the appearance of Xyros, and how he’d picked up porting as a side hustle to make some extra cash. Babak gave him a long, suspicious side-eye but didn’t push it.

  “So let me get this straight,” Babak said slowly, “some dude who looked like if Genji and Iron Man had a baby showed up and rescued you from a werewolf assassin—who was sent after you by evil Robin Hood—while he was in the middle of fighting some other dude to the death?”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” Dev sighed. “It was crazy.”

  Babak shook his head, clearly not buying the whole thing. “When did you even learn how to fire a gun? You’ve never even held one before—hell, you didn’t even know how to take the safety off.”

  “I went to the gun range while you were on vacation,” Dev replied casually. “Practiced with Abel—guy from Texas in my research cohort.”

  “Riiiight,” Babak said, still suspicious but choosing to let it slide. He knew Dev well enough to know he'd talk when he was ready. “Okay, man. Just don’t do this again, alright? Money’s not worth almost dying over. Get a job at Starbucks or something, I dunno.”

  “Yeah. Lesson learned,” Dev lied with a straight face.

  “But Babs—I need a favor. Actually… two favors.”

  “Wow, you’re taking my advice fast. Alright, what does Your Majesty require?” Babak asked, throwing in a mock bow.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Dev replied flatly. “Seriously—I need the list of porter teams, especially the one I was in. The one closest to the boss area. Backgrounds on everyone.”

  Babak blinked. “That’s some real James Bond shit... but I know a guy. He’s part of a cybersecurity startup we invested in a few months ago. If anyone can get that kind of info, it’s him.”

  “Perfect. And the second favor…”

  “Hit me.”

  “Do you know where I can get my hands on a mana stone?”

  Babak frowned. “So that’s why you went into the Gate? You were trying to swipe one? Why do you even need—”

  “Just answer the question, bro.”

  Babak raised an eyebrow then sighed. “Bro... that might be a tough order. Mana stones are crazy regulated. Businesses and governments hoard the good stuff—civilians can’t touch it legally. And even if you could, they’re stupid expensive. That’s the legal market. Black market’s worse.”

  “So that’s a no?” Dev asked, already bracing for disappointment.

  “No, it’s not a no,” Babak replied. “I know where to find them—it’s just… we can’t afford them. I do well, sure, but not mana stone money well. I'm just a junior banker, dude. You might as well have asked me to buy you a pound of enriched uranium.”

  “What about a Cat-3 or below?” Dev asked. “Doesn’t have to be top-tier. I’ll even take a Cat-1. Just the bare minimum.”

  “Hmmm… it’ll still be a little pricey,” Babak admitted, rubbing his chin. “But I can get it for you. I’ll have to call in some favors. ETA might be dicey though—like, a week if we’re super lucky, a few weeks if we’re not. Don’t hold your breath though.”

  “Well, it’s better than nothing,” Dev sighed. “Thanks, man.”

  “Yeah, no problem, dude,” Babak said with a grin. “But you’re definitely covering my grub the next time we go out. Like, all of it.”

  “I’ll do more than that,” Dev smirked. “How would you like a promotion at work?”

  Babak looked at him, confused, half-laughing like he thought Dev was joking. But Dev wasn’t. He knew exactly how he could help his friend. After all, what was the point of going back in time… if you couldn’t hand someone a certain almanac and get rich doing it?