[Prologue]
Blood smothered the floor.
My blood.
Flowing from an arm which was no longer there.
The other lay loose to my side. In my hand, a gladius, held with what little strength I had left.
A sword which had seemed so light, which had been so faithful to me since my arrival all those years ago, now weighing heavy within my fingers.
-865, -893, -961, …
And the numbers ticked incessantly on.
As if the pain I felt wasn’t enough.
With every step I was reminded of the arrowheads buried deep within my back.
A recurrent sting which accompanied me as I staggered my way across the marble.
Moonlight sliced through the room in shards of pale blue, but from opposite emerged a shrouded figure I could not quite make out.
I raised my sword in response, my muscles screaming as I readied myself once more.
But my resolve, one I had so desperately held on to, shattered the moment he stepped into the light.
“Ah…”
All at once everything came crashing down.
I fell to my knees, my sword clattering as it dropped to the ground beside me.
“You too, Leus…?”
Words that barely made it out of my mouth, tortured by a hopelessness which gored a hole in my heart.
Yet his name hung between us, the weight of those words disrupted only by the scraping of metal on marble as he walked closer.
His silence told me everything I needed, but for a moment I saw a glint.
A single tear, trailing from beneath his eye.
One reflected in the moonlight, along with the sword he now brought before him.
In its blade I saw my wearied complexion.
A despondent face, lacerated by cuts, staring back at me.
He raised it higher, and I closed my eyes.
A final thought flickering across my mind.
A warm face, a carefree laugh.
I’m sorry.
Brother.
…
[Chapter 1 - From you]
A world of monsters and iron, and into it I was bringing a Desert Eagle.
A dry smile crossed my mouth at the thought.
The colossal Minnesotan pistol lay loose in my open hand. A wildly impractical choice, but one which had saved my life more times than I could count.
It served almost as a lucky charm, a reassuring weight against the door before me, standing exactly where Vin had recounted it to be.
Arithea.
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That other world beyond.
Where he had gone.
Where he had died.
The door had appeared wholly unassuming when I first laid eyes upon it.
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I had made my way through the debris smothering the hill ascent.
Sections of smashed electronics and car parts sprawled amongst the dirt, enveloped by the wild grass and weeds which grew around.
And yet there it was, in a small clearing all by itself.
A single, inconspicuous white door.
The paint peeling off its frail wooden frame, revealing the battered oak which lay beneath.
Immediately I had stepped forth, reaching out as I tentatively clasped the cold metal handle.
Anticipation shook my arm.
A fear perhaps, of what I would see.
But when I pulled it towards me, greeted again by the familiar sight of the late afternoon sky, I felt nothing but a wave of relief.
Gently pushing the door back to a close, I set my bag down opposite as I sat there.
Waiting.
“Sunset on August 22nd,” my brother had written.
Half an hour left.
It had only been a week since I heard from him once more.
I recalled that afternoon: the air lulled into a soft hum by the sound of cicadas, perforated only by the hubbub of traffic and people twenty floors below.
In that sweltering heat, a single parcel lay before me, its brown cardboard setting itself apart from the battered tiled floor.
Initially I had treated it with caution. I had not ordered anything after all.
And yet discovery as to the sender wrought a sudden anguish within me.
“Vinny.” The courier had said, a name I had not heard for over half a decade.
My brother’s name.
The address, scrawled undeniably in his messy handwriting, brought forth a wave of sadness interlaced with nostalgia.
Setting it down, my mind was certain that it was some callous prank.
One done in awfully poor taste.
But a slither of hope, buried deep within me, tugged at me to open it.
A moment of hesitation halted my hands as I ran the boxcutter through the tape. A nervousness, an unease as to what I might find.
And then it was gone, pushed aside along with the box panels to reveal what was stored inside.
A single book confronted me, its leather aged and worn.
Resting there, it looked modest almost, betraying nothing as to the content it held.
Twenty minutes left.
I jerked back to reality.
Before me lay the city, a tall mass of white and glass nestled within the dense vegetation of the mountains around it.
At its heart sat a pool of deep blue, stretching into the horizon from within the bay which comprised the city port.
And the sleepy chirping of birds filled the quiet evening sky, disrupted only by the occasional ship horn signaling its departure.
I checked my provisions again.
Not that it would matter if I had forgotten anything.
There was no going back.
I had thrown in only the essentials.
My brother’s diary for one, nestled at the bottom amongst the few clothes I had brought with me.
Most would have to be sourced from that world, lest I drew any unwanted attention.
Despite this low-profile ballistic armour still remained mounted to my chest, hidden beneath the long coat I had worn.
At least, as low profile as fourteen kilograms of ceramic plate could get.
Even in this heat, its weight offered some comfort compared to the world I was about to enter.
.50 AE rounds made up most of the remaining bulk in my bag.
Ammunition for the Eagle, enough to “kill a horde of bears” the seller had smirked.
A last resort for sure but without the handgun I felt almost naked.
The Eikhorn alleviated that feeling by a little, its Tantō-styled blade sheathed in the holster strapped around my thigh.
It was a far more practical choice, and one I would likely use.
If I was to follow my brother’s chronology, military technology in that other world seemed characteristically fantasy. Most favoured medieval-era arms and armour.
What I had was therefore sufficient, both to ensure my basic survival in the wild, but also against other people.
Ten minutes left.
The wind had picked up, passing a gentle breeze through the trees while the grass swayed in cohesion.
In the distance I made out the movement of cars, accompanying the bustle of people as they headed home from work.
Orange rays intermingled with the blue sky in a mesmerising dance as the sun slowly wandered down towards the horizon.
Five minutes.
I breathed out a sigh, throwing the bag over my shoulder.
It was nearly time.
The door looked as inconspicuous as ever.
It seemed to be almost in a world of its own, gently closed within that thin frame, unperturbed by the soft wind which swept through the bay.
Now.
The gun stayed in my hand, thumb poised to flick off the safety.
Taking in a deep breath, I strode across the dirt, grabbed the handle firmly, pulled and-
There it was.
A whole different world.
Around me, the sun tinted the sky in its last moments.
I could hear the cars in the distance, smell the ocean air that mixed with the humidity of the summer evening, feel the soft breeze that blew past my ears.
Yet in front of me, ahead of me, was something incoherently different.
A portal was the only way to describe it.
Within the door’s frame contained long fields of clear green grass, rippling beneath cerulean blue skies.
And at its centre stood two pale moons: one a washed red, the other a bone white.
It was right there before me, a whole different world.
One that had taken my brother, and with it his life.
The scent of cold air, subtle but in striking contrast to the environment I was in, drifted past my nose.
I lingered for a moment longer, pausing not only to comprehend the view that now lay in front, but also to acknowledge the reality I would leave behind.
And with it, the sense of normality I had always known.
And then I steeled myself, stepped forwards, and passed through the frame into the world beyond.
