[null]

  The void.

  A drift. A hush. A fall through endless ink. Thoughts scatter like windblown leaves, catching here and there in the folds of a fleeting consciousness. The void was nothing. The void was everything. It was the great silence that swallowed sound and space, yet echoed with the faintest hum of something forgotten, something lost.

  James floated, or so it seemed, though there was no up or down, no place to call ground or sky. His senses felt dulled, muffled, as if wrapped in thick wool. Cold, distant memories surfaced like icebergs breaking through a dark sea: the glint of a silver spoon; the sharp scent of rain-dampened earth; the sudden crack of a voice calling his name.

  James… James Earl!

  A name. His name. Yes, that was it. A name was something, at least. A fragile tether against the pull of the void. He clung to it, turning it over and over in his mind as though it were the last coin of a beggar king.

  Time stretched, meaningless. Seconds became hours, or perhaps hours were no more than a blink. Soon, he walked—if it could be called walking—along a path of pale, ghostly stones. They hovered, suspended in the void, their edges crumbling into dust with every step. Behind him, there was nothing. Ahead, more nothing. Around him, a chill that was not cold but still cut to the bone.

  And yet, a light.

  Faint at first, a speck of gold in the endless black. It grew as he drew nearer, pulsing faintly, a heartbeat in the abyss. Beneath the light, a hole yawned, a gate or an absence, ringed with an energy James could not name. It shimmered with hues that defied comprehension, colours that seemed to live and breathe and twist in upon themselves.

  Shapes drifted within. Spectral forms, humanoid but not quite, tethered by faint lines of something too fragile to be rope, too solid to be smoke. They moved without moving, their presence a contradiction. James peered closer, his curiosity piqued, and extended a hand.

  Pain shot through him like lightning, sudden and searing. He pulled back with a sharp gasp, his eyes wide. His fingers—faded at the tips, insubstantial.

  "I would be more careful if I were you."

  The voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and edged with humour. James spun, searching for its source, but found only more void.

  "Who’s there?" he demanded. His voice sounded small, even to himself.

  A chuckle answered, low and lazy, like the purr of a cat that had cornered its prey. "No need to shout. I’m here. Or perhaps I’m not. Does it matter?"

  "...Show yourself."

  A beat of silence. Hesitation. Then…

  "As you wish," the voice said.

  The air—or whatever passed for air here—shimmered, bending inward like heat rising from stone. A figure took form, pieced together by fragments of light and shadow. Tall, too tall, with limbs that seemed to stretch and coil unnaturally. Its face was featureless, save for two glowing orbs where eyes should have been.

  "Call me Hue," it said, its voice smooth and polished. "Hue Dwyn. Or Ordinator, if you prefer something more… official."

  James stared, wary. "What do you want?"

  "Ah, straight to the point. I like that. Efficient. What I want, Mr. Earl, is to make you an offer."

  "An offer?"

  "Yes, an offer. A return, of course. To the land of the living. Flesh, blood, breath—the whole package."

  James blinked. For a moment, he thought he might laugh. "You’re joking."

  "Not at all." Hue's tone was light, almost playful. "Though, in exchange, you’ll agree to a few... minor stipulations. A contract, if you will."

  "A contract?" James echoed, the words falling flat.

  "Yes. The original document is quite wordy you see, but the core of it is simple enough. Upon your return, you’ll participate in a program—the details of which I cannot disclose due to an NDA, but you will fulfil regardless. It's a fascinating opportunity, really. And when the program concludes and your mortal life comes to an end again, we’ll... reclaim you. For further study."

  James felt the beginnings of anger stir within him, a faint ember against the chill of the void. "...Reclaim me? Like some lab experiment?"

  "Such a crude way to put it," Hue replied, feigning offence. "Think of it as a chance to preserve your essence for posterity. A noble contribution to the greater good."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "...Why me?" James asked after a moment of silence.

  "You fit the profile," Hue said simply. "Adaptable. Resilient. Opportunistic. You’ve already survived longer than most in this place. That alone makes you... valuable."

  Valuable. The word hung in the air, heavy and bitter. James looked back to the light, the tethered figures, the gate. The void pressed in around him, its weight unbearable.

  "And if I refuse?"

  "Then you’ll stay here," Hue shrugged. "Until the void takes you. It won’t be quick, I’m afraid. You’ve got some fight in you."

  None of what Hue said made sense to James, really. James knew. Hue knew. Even you knew. But what did it matter?

  James clenched his fists. The silence pressed in again, suffocating. Reminding him of his options.

  "Fine," he said at last. "Whatever. Where do I sign?"

  Hue’s laughter echoed, rich and full of something James could not place. Satisfaction, perhaps. Or childish elation.

  "Excellent choice," The strange thing purred. "Now, if you’ll just hold still whilst I issue your transdimensional ID and assign you a temporal link..."

  The void shifted, rippling like a pond disturbed by a stone. The light grew brighter, enveloping James in its warmth. For a moment, he thought he heard Hue speak again, though the words were lost to the growing hum.

  And then, there was nothing. No void. No silence. Only light

  ???

  Faywyn, 13th Moon, 11th Day, 1623 Symfora Telos

  Coppermirror glint, a glimmer ghosting his starlit visage, James, shirtless at Lord Aden’s desk, gazed out into the moon-silvered night. A firmament untouched by man's hubris, no clamour of city lamps, only the cool sweat-beads kissing his fair skin. The mirror caught him: tangled black slick, chaos bandaged in soft swaddles, obscuring half a face that seemed carved of alabaster, lips a maid might envy, soft, shy, rose-petal blush. Eyes—blue-green orbs, deep like the sea at twilight, whispers of skies untroubled, forests eternal, lakes holding every secret of the earth.

  Fair, he thought. Oh yes, fair.

  Was it beauty, this face of his? He wondered with a faint smile, not quite bitter but touched with something akin to resignation. Too fair, perhaps, he thought, for a man to wear. It was not the face he remembered as his own, that former self of light-brown hair, bright emerald eyes, and the freckles that, once despised, he had grown to cherish. How strange it was to feel nostalgia for freckles. And yet, this new visage was not entirely unwelcome. It was a mask, perhaps, but even masks may become familiar.

  Katydids sang in the field, their symphony faint, woven with shadow-play on the stone, the slow rhythm of a lone candle’s flicker. His gaze followed the argent crescent aloft, larger than he remembered, as though it, too, had undergone some transformation while he was not looking. A cloud passed before it, softening its light, and at that moment his heart, unbidden, yearned for home—not the home he now inhabited, but a home long since lost, a place both real and imagined, which existed now only in the recesses of his mind.

  "Home," his lips ghosted, fingers brushing over the softness of his mouth, an echo into the air. Behind him, the rap of knuckles upon oak intruded, drew him back, back to this night, this place.

  “Enter,” came his word, dry as autumn leaves. A heavy creak, Lancelot stepped inside.

  “Young lord,” the man said, worry stitched into every word. “The maids spoke of your wakefulness. You ought to be at rest.”

  “Where is Sean?” James cut across, dismissive. “And his men?”

  “Sean…” Lancelot faltered.

  “Where is he?” James pressed.

  “…Deserted,” Lancelot yielded. “Your brother—”

  “He is no brother of mine!” The words spilled, raw and jagged, startling the older man. Silence loomed in their wake, heavier than the words themselves.

  “…Forgive me,” James muttered with a furrowed brow, gazing down at his palm, "my emotions at the moment appear to be somewhat… beyond me."

  A pause. A long, still breath.

  “Why,” James began again, his voice softer now, weary. “Why would he? Does he not know? What our Lord-Father will do? A bounty, heavy as all his sins, will be laid at his feet.”

  A flicker in Lancelot’s stance, a crack of unease. James saw it, caught it, and asked, “Something troubles you, Ser Viscount?”

  Lancelot hesitated, swallowed. “A missive, my lord. Two days gone by. Your father sent word.”

  “And?” James prompted, slow, deliberate.

  “Bycrest… has fallen.”

  The room swam in silence. Heavy, oppressive silence.

  “Impossible,” James scoffed, dismissive. “Months, years even, would be needed to lay siege—”

  “The first fleet decimated,” Lancelot cut in, voice grim. “Treachery sent the second astray. The Ignis Basin burned. Ciden Island was lost in three hours. More treachery sent the arsenal ablaze and the Northern gates were thrown open by traitorous hands. Bycrest, my lord… has fallen. And Sean… he seized upon the news. Stirred revolt. The nobles and men-at-arms alike turned. Our stores were set ablaze, and in the turmoil, your father’s coffers were raided. The Heras…” A breath caught, strangled. And the Heras—"

  "The Heras," James repeated, his gaze shifting back to the window, to the moon. "What of them?"

  "They sent a notice," Lancelot said. "An eviction. They have given us ten days, no more."

  James laughed softly. "How generous," he murmured, his lips curving into something that was not quite a smile but still amused. The katydids sang on, indifferent.

  “Lancelot,” he said at last.

  “My lord?”

  “Leave me.”

  A pause. Then footsteps, retreating. But before the door closed: “Lancelot.”

  “Yes?”

  “From now, I hear first. No more secrets. Understand?”

  A hesitation. “Yes, my lord. I owe you my life. If not for—”

  “I require the Heras’ full ledger. Holdings, kin, allies. An hour. No more.”

  “…As you command.”

  Alone again, the silence pressed in. “Levi,” James murmured, his voice an echo to none. And he laughed then, a brittle, helpless sound, tears carving pale trails down his face. The katydids sang. His eyes shut.

  And sleep came, unbidden, and he dreamt of home.