Far from any trace of familiarity, Lawrence wandered through corridors that were shrouded in darkness. Initially he had thought that it had simply been nighttime, but ten hours had already passed on his wristwatch and not much was different.

  Whatever this place was, it was not filling him with optimism. The statues he had awoken by, were indeed human corpses whose flesh mixed with exacrystal matter. Every structure was in ruins and the sky never changed from the foreboding mix of oranges and purples. Rather than sun or moon, the only source of light was a glowing arc that slowly rotated above the horizon—it looked as if a thin stream of sunlight was flowing into moonlight, or in reverse. The sight was so strange that Lawrence didn’t hope to make sense of it—though he tried.

  He had spent a long while in the hall thinking of what to do, if maybe there was a way for him to return from this place or if it were a dream, but to no avail. The next most logical conclusion he arrived at, was to look for a source of water. Thus, he picked up a thin blade from under one of the statues’ feet and stepped over a door that had long since fallen from its hinges.

  As to why he picked up a sword... perhaps it would come in handy? No, that was unlikely. He just liked how the weapon felt in the palm of his hand—fencing practice had always helped soothe his mind during hard times...

  The only issue was that he couldn’t find the means to make a torch, but he could make do without one. While he didn’t smoke, Lawrence had the habit of always carrying a lighter on him. It wasn’t much, but it certainly helped him avoid a hole while traversing a staircase in otherwise pitch-black darkness.

  Though what he wanted to avoid stepping into even more, were the corpses. The further he went, the less statues he found, but... human bodies at various states of decay lay strewn across the floors, clad in tattered clothes that had once overflowed with elegance. The whole experience was beyond morbid for Lawrence who had only heard of death, even if it were his father’s. Yet, at the same time... he found it surprisingly easy to detach himself from it all. Whether this place simply felt too surreal, or his mind worked overtime to stomach this, he wouldn’t know. He just kept exploring.

  The palace, which was what the structure reminded him of, was enormous. That wouldn’t have been much of an issue by itself, but the layout wasn’t straightforward either. Along the way, Lawrence came across hundreds of rooms, including one that seemed to have been a kitchen. A couple bottles of wine stood on a counter, which was something, but admittedly not the thing to satisfy thirst with.

  Worst case, he had seen a river flowing through the adjacent cityscape. Perhaps the water there was suitable for drinking...

  As his adrenaline subsided a bit, Lawrence began to ponder aspects that weren’t in immediate relation to his survival. Such as... what was this civilization? There were no signs of the technology he knew and it all looked like what was written about in fantastical tales. It was impressive—the sheer size of the palace, but also the craftsmanship of the interior... as ruined as it was.

  The theory that the fantastical tales were in fact records of the far past had become a hot topic in Lawrence’s homeland following the invasion. Especially since the government announced the appearance of enemies using 'spells'—that was not the term the military had used, but it was what majority of people called it.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Then—was this the past and not a separate place? But if it were, this past seemed to have no future... so perhaps, portals hadn’t been exclusive to the exacrystals? So he wondered...

  There was also the question of magic—did it exist? Obviously extensive research had been conducted on the matter, and although Lawrence didn’t have access to most of the papers, the commonly known consensus was... maybe. Reached in no small part due to the issue of defining what magic was even supposed to be and the inability to understand exacrystals.

  Perhaps had Lawrence remembered the events preceding his portaling, he could come up with a proper answer...

  Lost in these thoughts, he eventually found himself in a sprawling garden of dried up flowers and in front of the gate leading into the city.

  The arch loomed high and the large metal crest hanging in the middle exuded strength, but the portcullis was in a pitiful state.

  Clink!

  While walking through its broken pieces, Lawrence accidentally kicked a piece of metal and nearly jumped at the sound—but it was only for a moment.

  Quiet. This whole place was dreadfully quiet. No wind, no birds... nothing. His very own breath seemed loud.

  Still, Lawrence simply resumed walking.

  Outside the palace walls he moved along the city roads. The buildings there were significantly shorter than he was used to seeing, reaching up to eight floors at most, often less than half of that. But yet again, the designs, the craftsmanship, shined through the ruin. The decorated walls, windows, doors, tiled roofs... what had it been like, to sit at a table by the sidewalk and watch the carriages pass you by? It was what Lawrence was imagining.

  Though his vision ended shortly, because when repairing the broken carriage with his mind he had forgotten to remove the corpse leaning out of the window... It looked like he wouldn’t be spared the gruesome sights anytime soon.

  Half an hour later or more, Lawrence finally heard a sound that wasn’t made by him. It was the river that he had spotted from the palace. It flowed through a once-beautiful canal that stretched far across the city in both directions.

  The water level may have been unnaturally shallow, judging by how the canal was built, but the stream still spanned a good thirty meters.

  Lawrence went down a set of stairs, then a bit further along the ground, before crouching by the riverbank. When he gazed down, he saw the reflection staring back at him—though it looked more like a contour in the dim light.

  Seconds passed and then... a splash formed on the water’s surface; and another...

  He didn’t know why now, but Lawrence was crying. Suddenly his heart ached at his earlier realization that he would probably never get to see his mother again. Not Joseph. Not anyone... Of course, his brain offered various ideas, hopes—none helped. His current state couldn’t be reasoned with. Because it was as if he subconsciously knew that no help was coming and that there was no exit within his reach.

  The teardrops weren’t numerous, but they kept falling for a while before they stopped.

  That is not to say Lawrence was fine afterwards, but he didn’t let go of his grip on the sword the entire time—because that feeling, the past memories, reminded him that he wasn’t the type to give up.

  Though, he had to put away the weapon now, if he wanted to form a bowl with both his hands. His throat felt even drier than it had before—

  Screech!

  But he wasn’t given the chance to bring any water to his mouth, as a deafeningly loud noise assaulted his ears.

  It was a hundred meters down the stream where he saw something move—no, it was running. A brown... animal? He couldn’t tell in this light, but his heart suddenly started beating fast and his neck prickled.

  Run.

  Every part of Lawrence told him to run.