The gunshot that cracked into the air seemed to stop time entirely for the briefest of moments. As the smell of cordite faded, the first few seconds of eerie, awed silence that followed felt like days.

The tinny snap ricocheted through Tylmerande and everything simply froze. Many confused looks were quickly and nervously exchanged amongst the gathered; dozens of pairs of eyes flitting from left to right to try to determine what in the gods had just happened. Storm Veritas flinched violently as the shock of the sound hit his eardrums, and, acting with the haste that his agile body and sharpened senses allowed him, placed a palm on the pinewood decking to push himself up to his feet.

Twisting violently enough to about-turn, his gaze first sawed through the collective wooden trading booths, then the paralyzed Tylmerande collective before finally resting on the bewildered face of Shinsou Vaan Osiris.

What greeted him was a horror show.

The Telgradian was swaying, as if stoned and caught in a light breeze. Blood flowed in crimson torrents from his lips, dripping down his chin and forking down the front of his neck. The salty taste upon his lips from the liquid stunned him momentarily into a numb stasis, but, after a few moments, agony finally struck the right hand side of his chest, which was potmarked with a single bullet hole. The Telgradian’s gaze started to float indiscriminately between the floor and the people ahead of him, never once fixing on anything, as everything blurred into a sickly haze.

Shinsou tried to speak, to say anything to the ageing electromancer, but all he could manage was a pained gasp as his legs gave way and his body crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap. As his head lolled to the left and he watched the masses flee into alleyways and houses, the horizontal view of Tylmerande started to look to him like an oil painting, ruined by a water spillage, with dozens of ants scattering upon its surface.

At this point, everything sounded and felt like it was happening underwater, and the Telgradian questioned whether he was truly conscious or whether he was trapped in a nightmare. It felt real enough that his joints ached where he had impacted the cold, hard floor. It felt real enough that the wound in his chest burned with the sensation of a thousand giant hornet stings. It seemed like a woman had knelt down next to Shinsou and was flicking strands of brown, blood-matted hair out of his face, but he couldn’t be sure as he tried without success to survey the carnage before him.

It was at that point that everything changed. Suddenly, reality was sucked into pure, brilliant white.

Shinsou panicked. The floor, the port, the whole of Tylmerande exploded into a million tiny fragments of reality shrapnel that spun away from him uncontrollably. It wasn’t long before he realized, alone in the brilliant void, that he could no longer feel the pain of his injuries or taste the bitterness of his blood upon the tip of his tongue. His clothes were clean, his hair swept back into its usual slick style. His arms and legs were no longer aching.

What the fuck is happening to me?

The Telgradian wasn’t expecting there to be a response, so, when it came, it startled him.

You’re home.

A form slowly materialized in the void; all the components of a body seemingly oozing out from beyond the bright white light and reforming in large, rugged segments. Once the human jigsaw had assembled itself, Shinsou could make out the shape of a woman. Her hair was brown and straight, falling in soft waves to the middle of her back. Strands hung in layers about her glowing face. Her nose was petit and her cheeks were smooth. Her clothes seemed to consist of a flowing gown of light, one that the Telgradian’s eyes could never really focus on, as if one were gazing into ultra-violet light. She gazed at him with green eyes that sparkled, beautiful things that regarded him with a warm interest, and yet all the while seemed to enquire.

The realization hit him hard, and Shinsou’s eyes widened with shock.

It couldn’t be.

Rhovani?!