After he had calmed down, which had involved a great deal of hyperventilating, Zach was finally able to sleep once again, the rest of the party talking softly as he faded off. Egan had turned out to be a pretty chill dude, keeping him company when Pevarin left to bring Selara back in when darkness had fully fallen, at least according to them. He couldn’t tell himself as they were quite deep within the cave, and the light from outside didn’t penetrate nearly far enough for easy telling. Selara did not even give him so much as a second glance when she returned, acting as if he wasn’t even there. He found that more than a little rude, and annoying, but he was more irritated with himself for being annoyed with her. It wasn’t like he was simping for her or anything.

  Pevarin did most of the work in calming him and had been accommodating overall, but there was this strange air of detachment throughout every interaction that he had begun to pick up. Perhaps it was simply because he was an elf, but something had bothered him about the argument that had occurred earlier. What had he failed at, and why was he scared of trying again? He couldn’t figure it out, and he was too overwhelmed to try deciphering it anyways. It was rare for him to dream, or rather it was rare for him to remember his dreams, but that night one did come to him.

  A long path stood ahead, cobbled and enveloped in darkness. No, darkness did not quite describe the depths of black that enclosed the road ahead. Around him was the void, and to leave the path meant falling into that abyss, and he knew that would mean his doom. He traveled along it for a time, faces flashing in the void around him. They spoke to him, or he assumed they did, but their words were unintelligible, too scattered to discern. The more he walked, the more familiar the faces became. The party he had just met, then his friends online, friends he had forgotten, crushes he had given up on, then his family. Then other faces, faces that pulled and tugged at his memory though he knew them not. Two children, a boy and girl, and a woman. Suddenly, the path ahead simply ended, and he pulled short, almost falling into the void. He peered over the edge, and what he saw made his stomach drop. All of them, dead, spread in a circle around a figure wreathed in shadow. He stood paralyzed, unable to process what he saw. The shadow began to move its head, turning his gaze upward.

  And then he woke.

  He sat up quickly, immediately regretting the action, his body still aching. He knew that movies tended to represent action poorly, but he had assumed that perhaps he would have some sort of increased fortitude in this world, but that did not seem to be the case. He still felt like shit, and he was doubtful that it would change anytime soon. Shouldn’t someone know healing magic? Looking around, the cave was mostly empty, with only a few crates remaining. He stood, although it took a few attempts, his legs wobbling threateningly as he walked towards the entrance of the cave. As he rounded a corner, he could see the first signs of light, and he had to squint his eyes as he stepped out into the afternoon sun, his breath stolen away by the sight before him.

  He could see a great expanse of land before him, a town or village below, rivers connecting to lakes and mountains beyond even that, mists and clouds swirling amidst the peaks. To the left of the town down a highway woven through a small woods stood a castle, but it was not particularly impressive. He supposed the local lord owned it, and likely managed the town below.

  “Not much, I know,” said a voice to his right, and he jumped in shock, Egan leaned against a tree nearby, gazing down proudly at the town, “but we’ve kept it clean of those louts. They don’t dare step foot in Riverton while we’re around,” He turned to Zach, the worry plain on his face, “I hope they don’t trouble it none when we leave.”

  “Leave?” he said, not particularly surprised. It was obvious as soon as he awoke.

  Egan didn’t answer him, but turned and began walking down the hillside, motioning with his hand for him to follow. It was difficult going, what with his crippling injury and Egan skipping down the wooded hills like a mountain goat, but he made it, Egan heckling him all the while. He never realized it was so taxing to go down a hill. He always assumed gravity would take care of most of the work.

  “They got hills where you come from Outlander?”

  “Stop calling me that,” he snapped, “My name is Zach.”

  Egan nodded in affirmation, Right, milord Zachary, whateva you say milord.”

  “So,” he said, raggedly drawing breath in between speaking, “Riverton? You from there, or...I don’t know, what’s the place to you?”

  “Naw,” he said, kicking at a branch as they walked, “we were just needed here is all. Folk don’t have much in the way of protection these days. Someone’s got to do it.”

  “Protection? From what? Monsters?” he asked, thinking back to the Shadowstalker.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Not the kind you’re thinking of. Well,” he said, pausing thoughtfully, “not always, at least. Usually just the Goldskins. They’re always makin’ a nuisance of themselves. Here, Irongate, Edgemire, Bharinia—everywhere, they’re the same.”

  The names meant nothing to him, but he tried to store them away. He was sure it would be important later. “Goldskins?” he asked, nearly tripping over a rock, cursing under his breath, “Who are they?”

  Egan paused for a moment thoughtfully, tapping his cheek with his index finger, “The soldiers of the United Empire. You’ll get proper acquainted with ‘em if you stick around here long enough, I reckon.”

  He thought of pursuing it further, but it didn’t matter at the moment. It was like choosing the optional lore button—he really didn’t need to know at the moment to get the main quest done. It didn’t take much longer to reach the town, although by the end he felt like death, Egan took out a skin of water and handed it to him after taking a pull himself.

  “You had that the whole time?” he said, drinking from it gratefully, some of it dribbling down his chin, and he wiped it with the cuff of his sweater.

  “You seemed fine.”

  He would have argued, but he settled for a withering stare as Egan tucked it back away into whatever crevice he had stored it in. The town was full of life, with children running through the streets and people talking with hawkers and owners of stalls. Some gave him strange looks before averting their eyes, while others continued to stare, and he could feel his face burning under their scrutiny.

  Egan leaned over to him, saying, “Just relax. You’re a stranger, and dressed very...differently.”

  Zach had figured as much, but he noticed that Egan scowled, eyes scanning the crowd. But for what?

  “So what are we doing here?” he asked, shaking his head at someone trying to sell him food.

  “Gotta talk with some folks before we go. Here we are,” he said as they approached a tavern, townsfolk loitering in front, some waving at Egan as they neared. The boy greeted some of them with nods and quick words of acknowledgment, then led Zach inside. He had expected it to be rowdy and full of life, but it was rather subdued inside. There were a few patrons scattered around, mostly older men talking quietly amongst each other, and then Egan tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a table in the corner. Pevarin and Selara were there, sitting with a portly man who was well-dressed and a man in full chain-mail, his helmet on the floor below. Pevarin saw them, waving them over while Selara merely flicked her eyes at them. There were chairs already nearby, and they took their seats, the others continuing to speak as they did.

  “...faring poorly. We’re not sure if they’ll hold out much longer.”

  Pevarin nodded grimly, but Selara half-stood, gripping the edge of the table, her hair bouncing as she did so, “We cannot stay any longer. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

  The portly man sighed patiently as if he was dealing with a petulant toddler, “And I’ve told you, we cannot ensure your safe egress without dealing with this issue first. The Empire is not in the business of employing fools and half-wits—slipping past them will require resources we currently do not have.”

  “Who said anything about slipping past them?” said Selara darkly.

  “Please,” said Pevarin, exasperated, “we can hardly afford to draw attention to ourselves that way.”

  “We need to reunite with the rest of the Final Breath. We can take the fight to Lucinder now, but we need to get him,” she said, pointing at Zach without looking at him, “to something resembling competent with all possible haste.”

  “And you won’t make it if you draw the full ire of the Goldskins,” said the soldier. He turned his attention to Zach, eyeing him up and down. “Besides, I’m not sure if he’s the one you’re looking for.”

  “Not much, I know, but we found him at a Gateway. That hasn’t happened since...” she faltered, glancing towards Pevarin, whose face remained impassive. “I’m confident he’s the one.”

  “What am I, exactly?” he asked, and everyone turned to him in surprise. They spoke as if he wasn’t literally sitting at the table with them, as if he did not have any say in what was going on, as if he was simply to go along with whatever they said and be a good little boy. Well, he would make sure that changed. Selara gave him a small smile, and he felt a warm bolt of thrill shoot through him. And that annoyed him, again, but he pushed the feeling away.

  “The Hero of Peratha,” said Egan next to him. He said it casually, confidently, as if it had already been decided.

  “And what the hell is Peratha, exactly? Where is Peratha?”

  The portly man looked between them all, confused, “The boy doesn’t even know where he is, and you want to fight Lucinder with him?” he laughed harshly, “I wish you luck with that.”

  “Peratha is an old name for the United Empire,” said Pevarin patiently, “We’re all in ‘Peratha’ right now, and you’d have to go a great distance to escape its boundaries.”

  “And I’m the Hero?” Zach asked. “I’m guessing that means there’s a prophecy, right?” It sure sounded as if there was one. Typical chosen one story. He likely had untapped powers after all and was probably overpowered. He should never have been worried in the first place.

  “There is,” said Pevarin hesitantly, “it speaks of one who appears from a different world to save ours from the grip of a tyrant. You are the first one to appear in a century.”

  “Is that all? How am I supposed to do that? Is there a lost artifact that will grant me power or something?”

  He shook his head, “The prophecy only says that you shall be our salvation. How you accomplish that is up to you.”

  That wasn’t particularly helpful. He had nothing, not even a sword, and he was wearing terrible gear, essentially. Right now, he needed better gear, then he would need to grind levels. Doing things that way would allow him to unlock better skills, and once he had sufficient abilities he could travel to a higher-level zone. It was simple when he thought of it like that. The main quest, saving Peratha, was out of his reach for the moment.

  That meant it was time to take on some side quests.

  Sleep came slowly that night. That, he was used to. Insomnia was an old friend, the kind that lingered well past its welcome, and he had expected it to keep him company that evening. The others returned eventually, and sleeping arrangements were made. Selara crawled into her corner upon a single thin square of cloth without a word, while Pevarin went to keep watch. Upon Egan’s return, Zach asked him questions about the world, trying to gather some information to make sense of everything. He was in a land called Peratha, a large empire divided into several smaller countries and states. He inquired about the magic system, but Egan unfortunately wasn’t magically inclined, he was sorry to discover. He thought of waking Selara then, but that was well past his capabilities. He balked simply at speaking to regular girls—how in the hell was he going to wake up a temperamental rogue mage that could probably incinerate him at a wave of the hands? Sleep did come, however, as it always did. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he had, of course, because that was when he had the first nightmare.

  A long path stood ahead, cobbled and enveloped in darkness. No, darkness did not quite describe the depths of black that enclosed the road ahead. Around him was the void, and to leave the path meant falling into that abyss, and he knew that would mean his doom. He traveled along it for a time, faces flashing in the void around him. They spoke to him, or he assumed they did, but their words were unintelligible, too scattered to discern. The more he walked, the more familiar the faces became. The party he had just met, then his friends online, friends he had forgotten, crushes he had given up on, then his family. Then other faces, faces that pulled and tugged at his memory though he knew them not. Two children, a boy and girl, and a woman. Suddenly, the path ahead simply ended, and he pulled short, almost falling into the void. He peered over the edge, and what he saw made his stomach drop. All of them, dead, spread in a circle around a figure wreathed in shadow. He stood paralyzed, unable to process what he saw. The shadow began to move its head, turning his gaze upward.

  And then he woke.

  It was morning. He never slept less than eight hours, funnily enough. He usually averaged ten, waking up in the crisp morning air of 3 PM everyday. He could see, though it was faint, the light of day bleeding down into the den. Still, despite the light and the heat radiating from the cave wall around him, he couldn’t repel the chill of that dream. Was it a vision? A portent, an ill omen of what was to come? If so, what was the meaning? Who had been that shadowy figure? It was all just entirely overwhelming. He wanted to just turn his brain off, log onto his PC, and forget about it. But he couldn’t--not here. What if that Shadowstalker returned? Could it be hunting him even now? He stood and came to his feet, creeping out of the cave, straining to hear. None of the party had remained behind. The sounds he should have heard—a bird singing the morning chorus, the whistling of the wind as it made its daily migration, the rustling of vegetation as the squirrels and smaller creatures bustled about were all gone.

  He reached the mouth of the den, and was greeted by something that stole his breath away. Such things he had seen before, in high fidelity through costly monitors, and to him it had been something of a given. He had not been impressed. Why should he? Technology had come a long way over the course of man’s history, and if a game developer could not properly manipulate Blender to render a stunning vista, then their work was garbage and not worth considering. But what he looked upon could not be made hastily or even painstakingly within a graphical engine. It was altogether too refined and too imperfect, the flaws drawn in and left to be observed. Yet, it was beautiful. A simple word to describe a simple scene, and yet it seemed to him to perfectly encapsulate what he beheld. The mouth of the cave opened atop a great hill, and below him past the autumn trees stood a small town, and beyond that a lake and lines of blue that stretched past the horizon. Somehow, even further beyond he could see a great citadel that blazed orange as if to outshine the sun, which paid the towering structure no mind. From where he stood of course, that sky-scraper was small to his eye, but he knew it must be grand indeed for him to mark it so plainly from where he stood.

  “Fuck me...” he said softly, the full extent of his reality overcoming him. This really was happening. A whole entire new world stood before him, waiting to be explored. Yet, that gave him pause. The same could have been said for his life prior, back in his world. It isn’t as if he had ever left the States before besides to visit family in Canada, or quick excursions off of a cruise liner to see a heavily curated version of the land he had so casually entered. It didn’t matter that all this lay before him. He would never be brave enough to venture forth into any of it.

  He looked around, wondering where those that had saved him had gone, and nearly jumped in surprise as he turned to his right, Selara standing there leaned against a tree, watching him. He averted his eyes instantly, doing his best not to flush as he cursed in his head. What the fuck was she doing there?

  “You sleep deeply,” she said, as if that wasn’t an insane thing to say to a person, “where you come from that might be well, but it could lead to your death here.”

  What was he supposed to say to that? “Yeah, I guess I do.” He replied. He was painfully aware of the fact that he was sweating in the morning sun, his sweater exacerbating the issue, and that he hadn’t showered in quite some time. He risked a glance at her and looked away just as quickly as he saw she was still staring at him.

  “Pevarin insists on treating you as the child, but he hasn’t accepted what you are,” she said, pushing off of the tree and walking towards him. He stepped back reflexively, but she still pressed towards him. Her eyes were more than just focused on him, they saw past him, and she was fervent upon reaching whatever it was that she saw. “But it has to be you. He told me about how it happened before, and everything is the same. Just like with him,” she said, hesitating just a moment, a sudden gust blowing through. That was...ominous. “You are the Hero of Peratha. I know it. You are the one who will save us.”

  He almost wanted to laugh. This was so scripted, so generic. Just like every Chosen One fantasy story to ever exist. The only problem was that it was him this time, and not someone with deeply hidden talents and powerful magic. If he had that, it would have manifested when he was attacked by that Shadowstalker. Instead, he had been saved and knocked out. Well, it was too early to rule out any plot armor he might have if he was correct in his assumptions, but he certainly didn’t feel like a secretly overpowered main character. He said nothing, however. He wasn’t great with girls in the first place, and trying to convince this one otherwise was miles out of his abilities.

  He looked away again, and he felt her continue to stare, but still he averted his eyes. Even if he was what she thought he was, he couldn’t live up to that role. Not unless something miraculous happened. He was... he was just Zach. The nerd. The loser. The kid living at his parent's house well into his twenties. How could he be a hero?

  “Egan will be back soon,” she said, less intently than before. He might have said softer, but her voice was still hard as ice. “He will give you the lay of the land and guide you into town safely. I would not venture out alone in these woods if I were you. There is no danger of the Shadowstalker returning, not so quickly after I repelled it, but who knows what else might have been sent after you?” She was deliberate in the way she phrased that. It seemed as if she was intentionally omitting the mention of something.

  Or someone.

  “Ok,” he said, and he heard her move away. Some part of him always yearned to be bolder, to be brave, but that simply wasn’t him. Long ago he had accepted who he was. That was the right thing to do. Just be himself. The loner. He could subvert that online, faced with nothing to challenge that aspect of him, but in the real world? Well, he was just him. That was the truth. He stood about, heeding her advice as he waited for the boy Egan to return. When he did, he was surprised to see just how tall he was. Zach wasn’t short himself—he was almost six feet tall, just barely below the mark in basketball shoes, but Egan stood nearly a head taller than that. He was lean with thin arms, but there was a wiry strength about him. Two daggers rested at his sides nestled inside a leather belt atop a leather jerkin and trousers. Much of what he wore was brown, just as his hair was. He smiled when he saw Zach, waving to hail him.

  “Well, you slept for no small amount of time. Ready to head into town?” He asked. For some reason, Egan’s air, the way he carried himself made him feel relaxed, at home. There was something about him, someone he reminded him of. It was as if Zach knew him, though that was impossible, of course.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” he said, nodding for Egan to lead the way. The way down the hill was treacherous, and there were more than a few times he had to shakily maneuver across rough, make-shift ledges to keep from rolling down the hill, but eventually, the ground leveled out. Egan didn’t make fun of him once, though Zach certainly felt like Bambi trying not to trip down the terrain.

  “Not used to hills, I take it?” he asked as they forged ahead, glancing back at Zach.

  “No, not really. I live in Florida,” he paused, remembering that the man would have absolutely zero idea where or what that was, “it’s um...it’s humid, and flat. Really flat. Close to the sea, and the ocean?” he said, not quite sure of his answer. The only map he knew was that of Azeroth. He didn’t go to the beach much, either. Sand was rough and coarse, and it got everywhere.

  “I have always wanted to see the ocean,” said Egan, “Before I joined the rebellion, I had never traveled much past Enderton—a village just past the city walls of Emperor’s Redoubt. It’s been quite the year, however.”

  So that’s what this was. He hadn’t expected to obtain that information so easily. He figured he’d likely need to converse with far more NPCs, or otherwise trigger a cutscene for the main storyline. That would explain...well, a lot.

  “Rebellion, huh?” he asked, stepping over a stray log, a small shadow flying past to his right. He glanced after it, just barely catching the fluffy tail of a hare as it disappeared into the brush. “Who pissed you guys off?”

  Egan hesitated, then said, “Not quite who. Not really. I’m not sure we really can rebel against...” he floundered for a moment, searching for the words. There was that same wariness, that same reproachfulness. “It’s hard to explain without all the history, you understand. But, we’re fighting against the rule of the United Empire. Mainly, we fight the Goldskins. They’re the Empire’s soldiers. They’ve no honor,” he finished flatly. Interesting. He sensed a backstory in that. “I know none of this makes a lick of sense to you right now, but hopefully we can answer the questions you no doubt have soon.”

  “Well, maybe you can answer this one,” said Zach as they finally exited the deeper part of the woods, landing on a roughly hewn path with trees flanking their sides. “How the hell did you guys know I was coming? Pevarin said that it had been monitored, or something, but it wasn't like I had been trying to come here. I walked out my house, and I was here. For me, it was nearly instant.”

  Egan shrugged, “If you wish for my honest answer, then all I can tell you is that I do not know much of magic. I know even less about Gateways and how they work. The-or rather, those who were interested in your demise knew before we did. The Shadowstalkers are only employed for the most critical of tasks. They’re ancient, wild creatures who tend to cause more damage than help. Who knows what the one that was sent after you did on its way to the Gateway, or on its way back,” he shivered, “They make my skin crawl all over.”

  They were close to the town now, the sounds of busy life growing louder. Egan stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, and Zach raised his eyebrows quizzically. The boy just shook his head.

  “Take off that coat. It makes you appear far stranger than you already are. Does it mean anything to you?”

  He was referring to his sweater, obviously, and Zach glanced down to look at it. It was dirty, and it probably did make him seem out of place. His jeans were strange too, but he supposed that couldn’t be helped. This particular sweater wasn’t anything of sentimental value, so he voluntarily shed it and threw it aside. Underneath was a plain yet dirty grey shirt. “No. Not really.” He pulled it off over his head but was unsure what to do with it. Egan had already turned and walked away. Littering wasn’t something he was in the habit of doing, but when in Rome...

  He threw his sweater to the ground. That certainly cooled him down a little, but he felt suddenly naked without it. He always wore sweaters wherever he went, no matter if it was hot or not. It made him feel safe. He knew that, and understood why he did it. He knew it was a crutch, and he was hesitant to be without it. Regardless, he followed Egan into the village. That’s all he could do right now.