The Realm of the Dead, distorted by sorcery and crawling with chains, did not obey its mistress.

The portalway Draedona opened tossed Xenro around within itself as though it were the churning stomach of some monstrous beast, and spat him out somewhere in the Mortal Realm he was quite sure was not the destination he'd aimed for.

Sceneries danced in and out of focus around him-- cobbled town streets, dense forests, someone's overgrown backyard, tundra wastelands-- then, nothing but smoke.

To crown it all, when he finally emerged into the Mortal Realm, he materialized several feet above ground, at someplace completely random.

Yet it was not hard rocks, nor frozen soil which slammed into him as he fell-- but burlap sacks, and stacks of wheat. Above him was a canopy of leaves. Bright morning sun peeked through them.

Before Xenro could make sense of his surroundings however, a colorful list of profanities assailed his ears.

"Draedona's mercy-- fuck-- Sweet Mother Rhilio, no that's not right either!" A man was shouting. "Scared the daylights outta me, good sir! Were you napping up on the trees or what? Dropping right from the sky like that!"

Xenro sat up with a groan, wheat-stalks caught into his hair. He was seated on top of a pile of sacks at the back of a farmer's carriage. The cart was rolling along slowly down a forest trail.

The farmer himself, and even the draught-horses stared at him, wide-eyed.

"You alright? Your hands are bleeding," the farmer asked again. "Somebody cast dark magic on you?"

But Xenro could not utter a word, looking at him with bewilderment.

How is this possible?

The man looked exactly like the other mortal, Farren, except with icy blue eyes instead of tawny brown. The hair which peeked from beneath his straw hat was chestnut, not red. Even the way he spoke, his entire demeanor was similar to her.

Xenro got to his feet, his head reeling.

Had the sorcery befouling Draedona's realm stretched all the way here, and thus Xenro was caught in a never ending loop of an universe where every mortal he met was some variant of the same Farren Clearstrike?

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Meanwhile the man, whose name he knew not, was eyeing him with only mild curiosity, having gotten over the initial shock.

"Sir was on his way to a play by any chance?" he asked, eyes set on Xenro's clothes, which looked rather outlandish and impractical, compared to the farmer's furs and wools. "That sword looks grand though, for a prop."

"Er..." said Xenro, which the man accepted as a meaningful answer.

He fumbled around beside his seat for a bit, then tossed Xenro a water-skin.

"Better you wash those wounds," he said. "There's a good witch-doc who lives near Kinallen, I hear. I'll drop you there, if you'd like."

Ah, so I am near Kinallen, at least. He accepted the water-skin he'd offered. "Thank you, uh... mister--"

"Clearstrike. Finnian Clearstrike."

Splendid.

The universe seemed to have snatched him from one Clearstrike, only to stow him with another. He even forgot the courtesy of telling him his own name.

Destiny and all that crap I suppose, Atruer had said. Xenro wished to see whether, through this encounter, he'd really grasped the threads of destiny. Could this string lead him to...her?

Finnian was awfully calm, as though someone had not just materialized out of thin air and dropped into his cart. On top of that, he lit a Roll, and even offered one to Xenro.

He stared at it for a moment, then considering the events of the days past, decided it was indeed time for a smoke.

Finnian looked pleased as he lit it for him. "'Tis not everyday a bloke drops outta the sky and right overtop my head, eh?"

"Yet you do not seem too surprised."

The farmer shrugged. "Just an ordinary day in Kinallen, I suppose. Odd little place, my sister tells me. Wild things have happened here recently," he said, then let out a soft laugh. "Wouldn't be surprised if the Unnamed Lord of the waterfall comes alive someday and stomps around on his huge stone legs, the way things are going."

Xenro choked on the smoke so hard tears streamed down his cheeks.

"So, Clearstrike, eh?" said he after a while of long, awkward silence.

His preoccupation must've shown on his face, for Finnian twisted in his seat to face him with a grin. "I know what you might be wondering. Aye, I'm that Clearstrike. Farren Clearstrike-- that girl all over the wanted posters a few days past-- that's my sister."

This time Xenro could not help himself. "Are you not too calm for a brother whose sister is on the run? She could be in danger!" All the more reason to find her soon.

Finnian did something between a smile and a grimace. "You sir, clearly haven't met my sister. She strutted right into the infamous Silver Knife Square as a kid. I'd no clue until a year later, and then I had to keep the whole thing secret from my Gran. Now I wouldn't tell this just to anyone-- I'm a good secret-keeper after all. But you just fell out of the sky, it's not like anyone's gonna believe you if you snitch anyway."

He had never been so offended at something which was entirely true. The way Xenro was dressed now, people would sooner give him alms than believe he was a God.

Finnian went on. "Honestly, ol' Gran is the one I'm more worried about right now. If she gets to know the trouble Farren's been making..."

Xenro nodded in agreement despite his anger. "It would come as a shock, I suppose. Difficult for any grandparent to handle."

"Nah," said Finnian, "that ain't the problem. Problem is-- who would stop her from walking right into the Council Headquarters and beating up the responsible mage with her cane. Now that would be disastrous."

Xenro forgot to puff out the smoke from his roll, inhaled it all at once-- and went into a bout of fists-pounding, eye-watering cough.

He had seen his fair share of bizarre people, and the Clearstrikes had just elbowed their way to the top of that list.

On went the cart along the trader track. Forests thinned to give way to grassy plains, rippling in a breeze where lingered the waning chill of the overlong winter just past. Hooves clopped, steeds tossed their manes, and wheels squeaked as the carriage rolled on.

To his left was a lake, glittering in the morning sun. Tall trees swayed to his right, leaves susurrating as though recollecting ancient tales of the land in hushed voices.

Who would think such a land would soon be thrown into chaos?

Xenro looked down upon his scarred hands, the blood beginning to congeal at the cuts where the great Chains had lashed and bit into his skin.

I have to end this sorcerous disaster, once and for all.

And I would keep my word to her.

✦✧✦✧

The carriage came to a stop with a jolt at the Lakefront Outpost, and he snapped back to reality.

"Gods above, this will take all day," groaned Finnian.

Xenro followed his gaze to see a queue of wagons wheeling along slowly. Miadelian, blue-cloaked soldiers waved the wagons over to who seemed to be in charge. Seated behind a makeshift desk of wooden crates, beneath a canopy of worn leather, the soldier was doing a painstakingly slow scrutiny of the papers the driver of the first wagon provided.

"Oh c'mon," Finnian called out from his seat, "it's me, Fin. You know I got all my papers in order. Let me through, I have to get to Byton by nightfall. Tomorrow's market day, remember?"

The soldier glanced up from their work with a sour grin. "Can't. Second Lieutenant Audryn's orders-- no one gets to pass without a complete checking. She's doubled the security at the border posts too; since, you know..."

"I know," mumbled Finnian, and for the first time, a look of worry crossed his cheery face.

Two other soldiers strode up to Finnian, one raven-haired and freckle-faced, the other with light brown hair and rather stern-looking.

"Hid so well not even the mages have found her yet," muttered the dark-haired one. "Rest assured. Klo gave them such an earful, they had to stop bossing us around. All that checking is a precaution lest the Drisians barge in like that night."

"That's good to hear, Rendarr," said Finnian, with visible relief.

Xenro looked upon their faces for a moment, after exchanging a few polite nods.

These people were Farren's comrades. The fact that she was apparently on the run from the law had not turned them against her, but they seemed to cover for her instead.

A pang rose in his heart at how they reminded him of his Chosen Warriors, unwavering in their fierce loyalty.

That loyalty had cost them greatly.

Shaking the bleak thoughts off, Xenro swung himself over the side of the carriage and dropped in a swift motion. He strode along the long line of wagons, each flanked by guards clad in full armour, armed and mounted. Unlike the blue-clad Midaelian soldiers, they sported gold and azure cloaks, the colors dulled beneath layers of dust. All those wagons seemed to belong to the warriors, a great company of mercenaries, from the looks of it.

A rather unfamiliar feeling of self-consciousness crept over Xenro as he walked the queue. Curious eyes scanned his tattered chlamys and disheveled hair. Finnian had gotten down as well, trying to reason with the soldier.

"Try to understand my problem, will you? I've got baked goods with me, some of which I gotta deliver to the owner of The Olde Weasel. He'd take them and talk to this baker from the capital in my stead-- I could get an apprenticeship, for Rhilio's sake!" said Finnian, "but all will go to waste if they go bad from all this waiting."

"Oh, we could take those to the inn for you. What say you, Gray?" offered Rendarr, licking his lips, and exchanging looks with his gruff companion-- who reddened at the sight and looked away.

Finnian smiled sweetly. "No."

He turned to the soldier, a defiant look on his face.

"Gods, stop your complaining." A Velan man, who'd also been arguing with the soldier, approached him with a tired look on his face, and placed a handful of heavy, glittering silvers into his hands. "Let us see how good your chances at getting an apprenticeship are. I'll take a box, and here's some compensation for the delay. That enough?"

Finnian's eyes twinkled.

"Much more than I'd have asked for, but since you have so generously offered the money..." With a satisfied grin, he pocketed the coins, and marched back to his cart. He reached into one of the sacks to retrieve a small, wooden container, which he handed to the man. "Someday you'll boast about being the first ever customer of Clearstrike's Baked Wonders, sir."

Finnian must be serious about his business, for the same name and an address was lettered across the lid of the box. The mercenary clicked it open to reveal two dainty little rows of perfectly round, chocolate speckled cookies.

The man's eyes widened as he munched on one, his expression at first of shock, then of pure ecstasy. "Sweet Draedona... what sorcery have you put in this, man?"

"Naught but dedication and hard work." Finnian offered a dashing smile.

When Rendarr began drooling, quite literally, the man had no choice but to give him some of the baked delicacy.

✦✧✦✧

Another argument rose before Xenro could back away from the canopy.

"I said what I said!" yelled the soldier tasked with the job of checking paperwork, "there's no way I'm letting eight wagons of weaponry pass through. I must notify the camp, and then do what the Second Lieutenant deems fit."

The Velan man who'd purchased the cookies earlier stood before the desk, disgruntled.

"And you can't hurry that up?" grumbled the man.

The soldier shook their head. "What with the evacuation order being terminated, half our squads are busy escorting folk up at the village. Severely short-staffed, as you can see."

A calloused hand came to rest on Xenro's shoulder from behind, pushing him to one side gently yet firmly. "Step aside, son."

He turned to see an elderly woman making her way to the desk past him. Dark-skinned and brown-eyed, she was likely from the Brihurst Isles south of Midaelia. Her raven hair was shot through with silver, her face beautifully weather-worn.

Her eyes narrowed at Xenro's sword for a fleeting moment, before she addressed the soldier.

"You dare stall a registered mercenary company which has His Majesty's own seal of approval?" A stern look graced her features, sharp as though carved from stone.

The Midaelian soldier, although intimidated, held their ground. "Well, I'd like to see proof of that, Captain."

"Oh, I'll give you proof." Her nostrils flared as she slid a blank piece of parchment across the desk.

"Sweet Draedona, if this is a joke--"

"Then loosen up and laugh a little." She snapped her fingers, and sorcery flickered in the air between them, light and subtle and apparently unnoticed by everyone but Xenro.

"Everything is in order," said the soldier, as though in a trance. "You may go."

The other soldiers, preoccupied with the other wagons, did not notice. The wagons full of weapons belonging to the mercenary company jerked into motion, and resumed their journey, still painstakingly slow.

When the lady and the Velan man moved away from the desk, Xenro followed in the quietest way possible, tugged on by strings of curiosity.

"Quite the risk you took there, Captain Walric," the Velan man muttered to the lady as they came to stand beside the moving train of wagons.

"It's a damned good thing there aren't many of 'em," said the captain, stowing the blank paper into her belt. "Try this trick at the capital, and you're screwed. Streets swarming with high-nosed City Watch. We could've gotten through to Her Highness ages ago, if not for those bastards."

Her Highness.

Xenro remembered Farren mentioning Midaelia was under the reign of King Forthwind. The one these strangers spoke of might be the heiress to the throne.

"Then how on earth did you get these weapons from Kilford and out of the city gates, Captain?" asked her Velan companion.

Xenro inched closer, back pressed against a halted wagon.

A low chuckle. "Never forget who dear Kilford works under. The Countess. You just pay the coin, and place the order. The rest is up to her," said Captain Walric.

His mind raced to figure out the bits of information he'd grasped. During the Great War, it had been the Drisians who raised the Vasaeni and unleashed chaos across the Mortal and the Celestial Realms, and the Midaelians, allied with Velans, stood against them.

Was this company of mercenaries, quite clearly caught up with dubious dealings, an ally to Midaelia, or a foe?

He inched closer, and a withered leaf crunched beneath his boot.

"Silence, Gunvald," said Captain Walric to her companion at once. “For the walls have ears, even if we may stand out in the open.”

She glanced over her shoulder directly where Xenro stood hidden behind a wagon, eyes sharp like a bird of prey.

"Come out, O little eavesdropper," called the captain. "Yes, you. The lad in the rags."

Xenro was not little. In fact, all this sneaking around would have been a lot easier if he were little. But with a stature that tall, and a massive sword strapped to his back, being sneaky simply was not his forte.

Feigning a sheepish expression, he strode to stand before her as she subjected him to a thorough scrutiny with squinted eyes.

Her companion, Gunvald laughed and raised a hand, miniscule thunderbolts already flickering at his fingertips. “Just say the word, Captain. He won't remember a thing.”

“No.” The captain's eyes were upon the  jeweled hilt of Xenro's sword that jutted out over his back.

"Follow me." She set off down the queue of slow-rolling carts.

Xenro smiled. It never ceased to amuse him how these short-lived mortals thought they could order him around.

But they thought rightly, for he did exactly what she said.

If he wished to find out more about this odd company, this would be his perfect chance.

"I'll excuse your questionable behavior earlier, for I'm curious about that blade of yours," said Captain Walric without preamble, "do you know what that extraordinary sword signifies?"

Xenro liked to think he did. He had been wielding that blade for five thousand years, after all.

But from his time among the mortals he'd found, wise old folk rather liked to elaborate the significance of sorcerous artefacts to clueless youths who wielded them. What could this old captain possibly tell him about his own weapon?

Oh, this is going to be amusing.

Xenro assumed his best impression of a chosen one, as the mortals sometimes called them. "My... Da left this sword for me when he died. It has been in my family for generations. Find your destiny, he says to me. This blade would lead me to someplace I truly belong."

She looked at him for such a long moment he began to wonder whether he had gravely offended her by his words, or she had seen right through his ready-made little tale.

The wrinkles around the captain's eyes tightened as she smiled. "Then you may have found that place, dear boy. Seek no more."

...Pardon?

She reached behind her neck to lift from the folds of her chainmail a necklace, showing him the pendant which dangled from the thin, silver chain.

Any doubts he'd had, that the captain would have nothing new to say about the sword he'd had for over five millenia, cleared away.

Moulded from solid silver, the pendant was an exact replica of his sword, down to the tapering tip, to the jewel studded onto the hilt.

Their walk had taken them to the edge of a grassy slope. Here she stood amidst the rippling grass and unsheathed her own blade, eerily similar to his. The sun gleamed in its translucent shaft and blinded his surprised eyes for a moment.

"We're the followers of the Nameless One, who commanded the Chosen Warriors in the Great War. Him, and his mortal lover, Dresius Silverhaart-- theirs is the legacy we carry, in sword and in sorcery. Yours is a Sacred Blade, wielded only by the most elite ones of us. I bid you welcome."

His heart gave a terrible stutter at the name.

Dresius was still remembered by the people of this land. And so was Xenro.

They have raised a cult for me, yet given me no name.

"The Nameless One? Ah, tell me it is a jest," he blurted out, "your God has no name?"

The captain's expression was solemn. "Not since Lord Rhilio banished him from the Celestial Realms during the Apocalypse. Most of his past worshippers forgot of his existence, and the few who did not, failed to recall his name," she said, "but enough of that tale. You'll get to know more as you take your place among us-- which you must."

Spectacular. Becoming a member of my own group of followers-- is this sheer narcissism, or foolish humility?

Yet there was no way he was staying away from what could be called the remnants of the Chosen Warriors.

He wished to test the water before he plunged into it.

Xenro tilted his head. "Have I no choice in this matter, Captain? What if becoming a mercenary is not my goal? My Da only wished I could find the place where I belong, but did not force me to stay there once I did find it."

A grin spread across her face as her arm landed firmly around his shoulder. "Listen, my boy," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "What your Da wanted is now irrelevant. You're going nowhere now, because you've heard too much of my conversation with Gunvald. I would have to take you as hostage anyway. But it sounds better and significantly less hostile when you throw in the tale of your late father's legacy and join us willingly, yeah?"

So this lovely, sorcery-wielding grandmother was going to keep him hostage. Xenro chuckled. "Would your God permit such an act of coercion?"

She grasped her pendant and uttered a whispered prayer. "The Nameless One at the waterfall may be silent but here, he speaks to me," she said, "he says: he cares only for the outcome, not the way it is achieved."

Xenro cocked his eyebrow. "Really? He told you that?"

"Have some faith, young man."

A man yelled from across the line of wagons. They turned to find Finnian waving, back in his seat of his cart. “Will you be getting down here, sir?”

A blade pressed up against Xenro's back. Captain Walric gave him a warm smile.

But Xenro smiled wider. Not least because he could easily overpower this poor old captain in a matter of moments.

To her, he may be no more than a silly lad who had heard too much to be let off free, or perhaps a suitable candidate for her company. Yet Xenro had found a firm foothold in this vast land, in this timeline five centuries ahead from the time of his imprisonment.

The exiled God had found a driftwood to hold onto, before he could sink beneath the tides of unfamiliar faces.

"Yes, here is where we must part,” he answered Finnian. “I thank you for your kind help."

Giving him a nod and a wave, Xenro turned to the lady.

"Count me in, Captain Walric."