And there, too, a young blonde man fell. This time, it was on a shallow pond with a diameter of a short tree. His face was difficult to look at; he was mentally and emotionally scarred, and blackness ran around his eyes. Legends say he is the last outsider to appear in this world, second to Arnitikós the puerile.
The man looked at the scenery briefly; it was a tad swampish, and dark green dominated the view in trees and huge leaves. Instead, he didn't think much of it and gazed at the light, barely penetrating through the moist forest's crowded ceiling. And he stayed there feeling the star's warmth, then he closed his eyes and felt it; 'I am alive,' he thought, 'perhaps I have another shot at life.'
He had gotten up and walked around the silent forest, from a dead tree to a flourishing one. He was still in the clothing of an icerock miner, a mess of leather and poorly sewn fabric. His pick that accompanied him through the Annulus was nowhere to be found.
'By Aspro!' Whispered an observing owl, Pygmy, 'Scandubu, have you seen someone like him? Not me. . .'
Pygmy was a funny-looking owl covered in shades of brown feathers and a wide pair of yellow eyes. Scandubu, on the other hand, was a snowy owl. Everything in him was white except his black legs and icy-blue eyes. They were always squinted, and Pygmy's were wide open and alert.
'What is it now?' Asked Scandubu, sounding sick from the effort of talking.
'Look at it – it looks like Simian.' Replied Pygmy.
'What's the bother, then?' Scandubu yawned, and his boredom was ever-increasing.
'He's an outsider. Perhaps he's from Mavrílla, too! I'm going to fly to him.'
Pygmy took off and left Scandubu on his own. He slept a minute after Pygmy's departure.
'You there!' Shouted Pygmy, just as he landed on a tree's branch opposing the man's direction, 'Where do you come from? I've never seen you around Sciriala or this forest. Are you lost? Are you a friend or. . . are you. . . an enemy!'
The blonde looked up to see an eagerly observing owl, keen and assertive. He replied, 'I. . . I do not know. What are you anyway?'
'Why I'm Pygmy the Owl!'
'Pygmy? Have we met?'
'Certainly not.'
'Where am I?' Asked the blonde. He looked around in resonating tiredness.
'Sciriala,' replied Pygmy, he scooted to the edge of the branch, 'or more specifically, Bûm's Forest. What is your name anyway, Simian-like?'
'I. . . uh. . .'
'Oh, mister, you should be careful out there. We owls reside mostly on our devices, but you, out there? You don't look convincing enough not to be hurt by, say, the Nīsórs, or worse, the Sīnórs!'
'Stop. . . talking! My head hurts!' Cried the man, sinking his head to his palms. He then gazed at the soil beneath him, stripping the owl of all attention, and fell on the ground into a moment of recollection.
It was all hazy. Visions were overlapping each other. He heard shouts, screams, and familiar voices, some uttering in despair, 'Wolfheze! You are now The Sailor of Worlds!'
'This is the day,' a preachy voice echoed in Wolfheze's head, 'that the walls that bind this very world fall. A day of days where consequences align — again! One that conveys what "End" really means!'
And Wolfheze wailed. He had been tearing rivers down his chin courtesy of the incomprehensible pain and familiar voices. Another one echoed.
'Wake up, Bright Eyes, wake up!'
And Wolfheze stopped convulsing and crying. Slowly, he opened his eyes to witness the same leaf-penetrating starlight and the curious and observing owl.
'You, Mister, are surly troubled.' The owl felt smart.
'I remember everything,' Wolfheze got up and sat, crossing his legs on the ground, 'I was. . .' he then glared at the owl, 'you! Arnitikós, have you seen her?'
The owl replied in a sass, 'No, not me.'
'Insane-looking, red eyes – you cannot miss it!' His azure eyes pleaded desperately.
'I don't believe I've seen such a thing – '
Then Scandubu, swiftly and silently, landed a few steps away from Wolfheze, hiding within the clusters of the greenery above, and quietly added, 'I've heard of a Simian-like thing – like you, bothering our friends in Yura. Something of a peculiar shape. . .'
'Where!' Wolfheze burst in anger. It made Pygmy take a few steps away in pure cowardice.
'Why would I answer a stranger and lead him directly to our friends?' Said the white owl.
Wolfheze's blood boiled. 'Show yourself. . .' He said quietly and threateningly.
Scandubu yawned and flew next to Pygmy. And angrily, the blonde focused his attention and mind on the white owl's head, and he now is effortful in attempting to practice a trick of old times.
'This is a strange one.' Said Scandubu, 'What do you think, Pygmy?'
'Yes, yes indeed!' squealed the owl, 'Perhaps we should report him to – '
'How,' growled the blonde, now on his legs, 'how could you evade my metaphysics!'
And he ran towards the two owls, and they flew instinctively. 'See you later, Simian-like!' Pygmy mocked.
Wolfheze, frustrated, immediately ventured through this forest in search of the pitiful one. 'I will find you,' he whispered through his clenched teeth, 'and you will taste wrath,' then he yelled amidst the forest, 'You self-proclaimed idea of evil!' His voice barely echoed.