Cydnar opened his eyes to another cold, windy day. As he roused himself, he felt the biting breeze rolling in through the tower’s solitary window and cursed the strange climate of his new home. He slid from the sheets and paced towards the opening, lithe form disjointed and stiff from another night’s secondment into nightmares. The now familiar landscape beyond welcomed him, a tapestry of far below trees swaying in the wind. When he first arrived, he had been both terrified and mesmerised, torn from his ancestral home and disconnected from all he knew. Now, the mountains to the east and the great ring surrounding this new world comforted him. He traced the movements of the ships cutting across the umbral sky for a moment before he entered a command onto the console to his right and the shutters slid closed.

Elves, it seemed, were destined to spread out across the stars and stake a claim to more than just a single world. It was testament, or so Cydnar thought, to the deep-seated arrogance and sense of superiority that ran rich in the blood of his people. It mattered not wherever they were Hummel, Aleran, or Raiaeran, all fought for greatness. Though the people of Denisha appeared kind and good natured when he fell through the portal into uncertainty, they soon turned on his companion and showed their colours. He had been seeing to repairs to the newly constructed city of Icitha in the wilds of Salvar with a merchant from Knife’s Edge when the incident occurred. He paid Johnson some thought and bit his lip. As much as he longed to know more of how this future came to pass, his primary concern was to rescue his friend and escape, back to his life, back to his brother’s side.

“The time is nine o’clock,” a crackled voice pierced the quite contemplation of his room. “Prepare for visitation.”

Each morning Cydnar was interrupted by two artificers and a ‘compatriot’, which he gathered meant interrogator and body guard. Though they were civil enough, he could not bring himself to trust them entirely. Nobody who came as armed as they had true intentions. He composed himself and returned to his bed to dress. They had provided him with simple but high-quality cloth shirts and tight-fitting pants with too many pockets. He had asked why and learned of the industrious roles each citizen of Denisha held. Everyone was expected to learn a trade, to contribute to the upkeep and ‘expansion’ of their kind. With a thought, he conjured a crystalline plate and looked at himself in the dim reflection cast onto the purple surface by the piercing lights which littered the metallic ceiling.

“Visitation. Visitation. Visitation,” forewarned his ‘artificial’ host. He turned to face the door and put on a half-hearted smile.

“Access granted,” he said softly, and waited for the computer to acknowledge his consent. The doors hissed open dramatically, and three elves entered clad as ever in ornate, back-lit steel armour.