"Another world." Ravian muttered, lost in thought as he walked beneath the protective shade of the forest canopy. Not just a different realm or planet, but an entirely different reality. He's known of things like this, his father had often taught him about it.
And that is why it was impossible, no calculation running in his head however advanced it was could comprehend this apparent absurdity. Neither theory nor data could account for this, for the power to breach beyond the world alone was unfathomably great let alone crossing to another one. Unless, something of that power did cause this…
Falling back to lingering doubts, there can be no doubt that this is another world, telepathy to his father is never out of reach nor affected by suppressions of any kind. It is entirely unlike a signal that can be jammed and that is why Ravian could see no other conclusion to this predicament, and a growing weariness wells inside of him.
As Ravian navigated through the dense forest, the sunlight filtering through the canopy above was a constant irritant. He remembered, then, a pair of magical sunglasses his father had crafted for him. They were designed to neutralize the effects of the sun, a perfect tool for a situation like this. He reached into his pocket, hoping to find the familiar shape of the glasses, but his fingers met with nothing but the fabric of his outfit.
A sigh escaped his lips as he realized that his sunglasses were gone. He patted down his outfit, checking for his pair of swords, but they too were missing. His belongings, it seemed, had not made the journey with him. The loss of his swords was particularly concerning. They were more than just weapons; they were relics that held much of his power.
"Great," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Just what I needed." His face shortly betrayed his emotions and his irritated smolder seemed to wilt the undergrowth before he continued on his path.
The sun was a nuisance, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to his other problems. He could still avoid the harsh light in the canopy, which he hoped extended as far as he needed it to be.
As he was about to reach the edge of the forest, where the canopy paused, movement caught his eye. A young woman was crouched by a bush, her hands delicately plucking herbs. She hadn't noticed him yet, her attention focused on her task.
Ravian paused, taking a moment to observe her. She was dressed in simple clothes, her hair tied back in a loose braid. There was a certain grace to her movements, a rhythm that spoke of familiarity and practice. He approached her, his steps silent despite the undergrowth.
Ravian stepped into the clearing, his tall, muscular figure emerging from the forest's shadowy embrace. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow around him, illuminating his dark, neatly styled hair. His black outfit, simple yet elegant, rustled softly as he moved, the fabric catching the light.
"Excuse me," he called out, his voice carrying a characteristic strength. His golden eyes, intense and focused, were fixed on the woman.
The woman turned around, her eyes widening as they took in the sight of him. She froze, her hands still clutching the herbs she had been picking. Her gaze swept over him, taking in his well-built physique, his strikingly handsome face with its sharp, defined features, and the unfamiliar but rich clothes that marked him as a stranger.
Ravian watched her, his gaze steady and unblinking. The woman said something in response, her words a flurry of unfamiliar sounds. Ravian's brow furrowed in confusion and then understanding, his true emotions concealed by flashing a charming smile, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"Quite unfortunate, am I not?" He thought aloud in an almost sultry tone, knowing she wouldn't understand.
The young woman stood frozen, her eyes wide as they took in the sight of the stranger before her. He was unlike anyone she had ever seen, blinking twice to confirm. Tall and attractively muscular, with a presence that commanded attention. An effortless smolder graced his face, accentuated by his thick upward eyebrows
His attire was foreign, a rich black outfit with red accents and a black cape with a high collar that framed his face. Whatever it is that he wore reminded her of the nobility and their elegance, but without the tacky extravagance. His hair, dark and neatly styled, framed a face that was undeniably handsome. A straight nose and lips shaped like cupid's bow completed the ensemble of his elegant face.
But it was his unique golden eyes that truly captivated her, molten spheres of gold that seemed to faintly glow in the shade like a pair of warm stars in the night sky. It was like an enigmatic variant of hazel, but more glorious.
Ravian let out a soft knowing chuckle, one that sent her warm shivers. It was a reaction he was familiar with, one that never failed to amuse him. Whether here or home, it never gets old.
Before Ravian or the woman for that matter could interact further, a voice echoed through the clearing. It was a man's voice, speaking in English. Ravian turned, his golden eyes narrowing as he scanned the forest. The voice was unfamiliar, but the language was not. How could it? It was the language of his father.
As he saw the man who spoke, a simple first glance told him all that he needed to know. His smile grew and he let out a light huff.
He was a kindred spirit, clearly just as lost in this place as him.
Earlier, through the eyes of Sigmund…..
With a sharp inhale of air, Sigmund's eyes fluttered open, his consciousness emerging from the depths of a disorienting slumber. A jolt of adrenaline coursed through his veins, forcing his body upright with a sense of urgency. Yet, his equilibrium betrayed him, a disorienting dance of white and black spots pirouetting in his vision. The world around him spun, an unrelenting whirlpool threatening to swallow his fragile stability.
With unsteady limbs, Sigmund attempted to regain his footing, but his efforts proved futile as his legs buckled beneath him. The lush carpet of forest grass welcomed his descent, cradling him in its verdant embrace. The cool earth pressed against his palms.
Gasping for air, Sigmund's heart raced in his chest, an orchestra of panic and confusion playing a discordant symphony within him. He struggled to piece together the fragments of his fragmented memory, desperately trying to grasp the thread of his existence within this surreal landscape.
As the dizziness subsided, Sigmund's gaze swept across the forest that surrounded him, its ancient sentinels reaching skyward with gnarled branches and whispering secrets carried by the wind. Shafts of dappled sunlight penetrated the dense canopy above, casting ethereal patterns of light and shadow upon the forest floor. The air carried a musky scent, a symphony of earth, moss, and the distant aroma of decaying leaves, enveloping him in a comforting yet mysterious embrace.
A sharp sting pierced Sigmund's skin as a persistent insect sunk its tiny fangs into his flesh. Instinctively, he swatted at the source of pain, only to realize that his tattered attire had succumbed to the chaos of his journey. Shreds of fabric hung loosely from his body, revealing glimpses of the skin beneath, as if a beast had mauled him in rage.
Collecting his thoughts, Sigmund became acutely aware of the symphony of nature surrounding him. The harmonious chorus of birdsong, the rustle of creatures traversing the undergrowth, and the distant howl of wind through the ancient trees wove a tapestry of vibrant life. Fear gripped his heart as he hesitated to call for help, cautious of drawing attention to himself amidst this wild realm.
With hesitant steps, Sigmund ventured forth, his path meandering through the dense foliage, each footfall accompanied by the whispers of leaves beneath his weary soles. His gaze darted from tree to tree, scanning the forest's labyrinthine embrace in search of signs of civilization.
As he ventured deeper into the unknown, every crack of a twig or distant hoot of an owl sent a shiver down his spine. The unfamiliarity of the surroundings weighed heavily upon him, a constant reminder of his vulnerability.
Sigmund's heart thudded in his chest, its rhythm a symphony of trepidation and hope. He longed for the sight of a distant village, a flickering beacon of humanity amidst this untamed realm. With each stride, he fervently prayed that civilization would reveal itself, casting its warm light upon his weary form.
His pace, slow and deliberate, mirrored the cadence of his thoughts. He yearned for the assurance of companionship, the sanctuary of walls that would shield him from the mysteries and perils of the wilderness. And so, he pressed on, an indomitable spirit determined to find his way back to the familiar, where the comfort of human existence resides.
Through the dense undergrowth, Sigmund's weary eyes caught a glimpse of a figure, a beacon of humanity amidst the untamed wilderness. With a surge of hope, he disregarded the thorny bushes that clawed at his flesh, their prickly embrace leaving a trail of small wounds. Ignoring the stinging pain, he propelled himself forward, his voice desperate and filled with longing.
"H-Hey! Can you help me!?" His words echoed through the forest, carrying the weight of his plea as he closed the distance between them.
The world around him blurred, reduced to a mere backdrop as his focus narrowed on the enigmatic woman before him. Her silhouette danced amidst the dappling sunlight, casting an ethereal glow that beckoned him closer.
As Sigmund parted the last thorny bushes, his gaze fell upon not only the woman but also a man adorned in regal attire, exuding an air of noble authority. The presence of both figures stirred a mix of relief and trepidation within him. With a quivering voice, Sigmund pleaded to them, his desperation evident in every word.
"P-Please, I'm lost..." His voice trembled with a vulnerability that reflected the wounds afflicting his body. Dust and dirt clung to his torn garments, a stark contrast to the noble attire of the man before him.
Sigmund's eyes darted between the woman and the noble, searching for a glimmer of understanding, a lifeline to guide him back from the depths of his disorientation.
Ravian's eyes scanned the man top to bottom, taking all his features to perfect memory. From the man's sky blue eyes to his brown hair, a much lighter tone of Ravian's own. Then his clothes, a simple light blue t-shirt that reminded him of a similar piece of clothing he had back in his home. Yet this shirt and the man who wore it appeared incredibly out of place, even more so than his own.
Seeing as this man seems to be the only person here capable of understanding his speech, Ravian's golden gaze, heavy with unspoken questions, shifted from the woman to the man. The woman, now a mere spectator, watched them both with an expression that was a mix of confusion and curiosity, her eyes darting between the two men.
"Not from here are you?" Ravian began, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. His words, spoken in a smooth accent eerily similar to the common lilt of Sigmund's homeland.
"An Englishman, I presume?" He continued, his words echoing softly in the clearing.
"Ah, yes!" Sigmund's voice quivered with a mixture of relief and enthusiasm as he responded to Ravian's presence. A shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, mingling with a touch of embarrassment at the disheveled state in which he found himself in.
He scratched his head nervously, acutely aware of the disarray that marked his appearance. The tattered remnants of his clothes, the wounds on his body, and the untamed wilderness of his hair all served a stark reminder of his recent journey in search of help.
Taking in the man's disheveled state, Ravian made an immediate decision. Given that this stranger was the only one who could comprehend his words for now, it was only rational to lend a helping hand. Ravian silently strode towards the newcomer, almost like an apparition.
"You appear to be in need of immediate aid," Ravian began, his voice conveying his concern. He extended his right arm to Sigmund, his palm open wide before him.
"May I?" He offered, his hypnotic golden eyes promising Sigmund a pure intent.
Ravian slowly lifted his right arm to Sigmund's shoulders, displaying crackling sparks of arcane crimson flame and a dim violet halo upon his right hand as he raised it.
Briefly recalling something, Ravian gives an assuring smile and says, "Pardon me, this is to heal." The flames then faded into a warm verdant color.
However, before Sigmund could respond or comprehend the noble's intentions fully, a searing pain erupted within his arm. It felt as if his limb had been engulfed in a conflagration, the agony spreading like wild inferno through his veins. In a panic, he instinctively slapped away the noble's hands, desperately grasping his injured arm as if trying to extinguish an invisible flame.
"What are you doing!?" Sigmund's voice cracked with anguish and disbelief as pain sprouted like snaking vines from his wounds.