So magic exists in this world then. I pondered, as we sought more signs of life beneath rubble.

It certainly wasn’t something I’d thought unexpected, certainly if there existed worlds beyond, then there must be some worlds that are fundamentally different yet ultimately the same. What was curious was that I hadn’t landed on a planet that didn’t support life, which was a blessing.

I found myself with a shovel, moving pieces out into a wheelbarrow that was wheeled away periodically. I contemplated asking about magic here, but decided against it, it would stand out too much, maybe I could find a book on the subject, or just watch and learn. Judging by how I’d only seen that one mage (Sorcerer? Witch? Sourceror?), I supposed they were rare, a supposition aided by how far technology had come instead of stagnating.

In a way it was easier and harder that the concrete was in tiny pieces, we could make progress with shovels and hands, but it was agonizingly slow as cranes were of little help. A shout came from the side, and the few closest quickly rushed over, helping to uncover the people the person had seen. It didn’t seem like rescue cameras existed here.

Despite this, the locations of the living seemed to be known, with someone directing rescuers towards specific locations. “HELP! P-PLEASE!” I flinched as the voice, scratchy with static, boomed from a part of the rubble. The one next to me dropped his shovel, sheepishly picking it up again after.

“Those communicators are a godsend.” A rescuer remarked as we continued to shovel. “It’s lucky that we can use them to talk to anyone who had them, I just wish they were more widespread.” she sighed. My confusion must’ve showed, she smiled wryly and pointed to the man directing the rescuers, specifically at the device he held.

It was a curious device, a small rounded stone that he occasionally held to his mouth or ear, at other times he would observe its surface, tilting it from one side to another. It faintly glowed, barely noticeable if not for the foggy light. “Points out others?” I asked, and she nodded, leaning her left wrist against the shovel, palm upwards, and tracing in a circle above it with her right index finger.

“Your accent is very hard to place.” She remarked, continuing the shovelling. I didn’t respond, it would take a few weeks yet to mimic precise intonation, and that was if I wanted to speak with the vocabulary and grammar of a stunted toddler. A library, however, was unlikely to be on hand. Strangely, she began talking of other countries as she worked, remarking that she too, was from another place, years ago.

It was nearly dark when I finally dug to the air pocket beneath my feet. My shovel slid into the ground, grinding though gravel before the pressure of my foot suddenly lessened with a schlick sound. I hastily drew out the shovel, a small dark stain of gooey blood on its tip. “Oh crap.” I muttered in English, and tossed the shovel aside, to the surprise of the woman who had quietened after a few hours. I frantically started shoving the rubble away, until the strong unmistakable stench of blood and gore assailed my senses.

The man’s neck had snapped long before we’d dug him out, the pocket was formed of his body, his arms and thighs its supports. His back was a mess, compressed and livid where the blood vessels had burst, a single shallow cut where the shovel had pierced skin. I gritted my teeth, no longer unused to violent or gory deaths, though this was a different ending to those I knew. A few of the rescuers threw up there and then, as I shifted the sack of flesh of bones aside to reveal a young girl still huddled beneath his body. She was unconscious, but alive, and mercifully nestled face down.

Turning the man over elicited an even greater amount of retching from my fellow rescuers, and I quickly found a small tarp to cover his body, dismissing those too unfit to continue despite their protests. I carried the girl carefully to the aid tent, the method wasn’t ideal, she was unconscious and a bridal/princess carry as I recall required the subject to hang on to your neck, not to mention two uninjured arms, but she was light and I had few alternatives.

“We’ll take it from here.” A male aid worker addressed me, half-heartedly reprimanding my use of wounded arm, and directing me towards an empty bed before checking on her vitals, my request for a body bag almost went unnoticed. Another aid worker motioned for me to follow, grabbing one off a table and turning to hand it to me, her features grim and tense.

“How are others?” I asked, gesturing out.

Her features turned from tense to weary. “Stable, but I hope the Mender returns soon.” She turned to look at those who had either lost limbs or had them crushed.

The corpse had been left alone, with a single member of the rescue team ushering curious onlookers onward. I walked up to the corpse with the body bag, taking care not to uncover it as I slid its rigid form into the bag, only removing the tarp as I was zipping it up.

I was surprised to find it easy to move, carefully shifting it to prevent it from ripping up as I dragged it away, likely a consequence of months in the army, and constant training. I washed my hands after, and food was passed out to all the participants. It was a simple meal, comfortable in its similarity to foods from home, though not tasting quite as good.

“How can you possibly eat after seeing something like that?” It was the woman from before, who sat across me, poking at her food. Another male sat down next to her, echoing the question.

“I’ve seen worse.” I said simply. And endured worse.

She was silent at that, the man beside her giving me a look of queasy disbelief, which I returned with silence. At that moment, the girl from before, the Mender, walked into the camp, where she was again greeted with smiles and thanks, along with some food as well, which she seemed to accept with gratitude. I frowned, my vision was getting slightly blurry, was she glowing?

[Your sight changed, there was an overlay of a secondary image... Disconcerting.]

What do you mean an overlay? What is so different about this world? I thought, blinking a few times and turning to look downward. There was no headache, just a sense of nausea as the movements of my vision refused to align to the movements of my head.

“Hey, you alright?” The man opposite asked, concerned. I ignored him, ignored the disorientation, and continued eating. Brain disorder perhaps, the portal and the… What were Tirune and Greil’s species again?

A sequence of chitters and clicks rustled in mind. [The word is ancient, and means “those who understand”.]

Right… I’ll go with Chtichs. Especially them, again for crying out loud they probably dismantled my brain half blind.

I left near midnight, the sky moonless, and still smoggy. A shame, this would be one of the few times an industrial centre like this would be able to see the stars unadulterated by light pollution.

The night was silent as well, now that I wasn’t by the aid tents the atmosphere truly became oppressively quiet, except for the occasional footstep. Halfway down another street as the night grew ever colder I realized the absurdity of what I was doing. Where could there possibly be formal shelter except back at the aid tents?

My thoughts foggy, and my body weary, I shrugged, leaning against the wall before sliding down to the ground, and closed my eyes. Tiny needles were in my arm, I was dressed in a hospital gown and my brother called for me to pass the cards. Cards, of course, seventy eight minus twenty two and scattering to the wind like leaves falling on a hot dry day in a cold night by the sword stained in streams of blood to the oceans on my da…

I jolted awake, slapping aside the hand reaching for my shoulder. Lurching to the right, I reached covertly for the carving knife hidden in the folds of my shirt. I looked up to see the red and white shirt I’d seen just hours before. A garble of speech directed itself at me, the only word I managed to translate in my groggy state “health”.

I relaxed my grip on the knife, slowly standing up and leaning up against the wall as the army pounding at my temples faded. The voices continued until I managed to get my head straight. “Bereft of shelter it would have been wiser to remain by the tents rather than wander.” Male voice, irritable, but tired. His intonation didn’t match the elegance of his word choice, perhaps it was an accent.

“His dress is crude, mediocrely handmade, why have you interrupted our journey for this? We should return for a respite and press on, there are yet more people to mend. Lacking the proper rest will cause your body to fail and increase the number of wounded and dazed instead of our job.” He continued, staring at another of their member as he made his case. Despite his dress being the same, he carried himself with a fixed, proud poise.

The other man noticed that I was finally fully aware. “You’re strange.” Said he, “To sleep here, with those clothes. Hmm, clothes.” He poked at the shirt I wore, rubbing the threads and cocking his head. “Like gauze, but worse.” He smiled lightly.

“He got stitches too. See?” The girl reached over to pull at my left leg, revealing the poorly mended wound, infection warded off by the nanomachines. She also found the wound on my right arm, it’s lips awkwardly matched, this one was deeper, and although I had been ignoring it, the weakness was very much present. “I got nothing left though, can’t have me fallin down on duty.”

The first man sighed, “We are exhausted as well, I suppose you’ll want him to follow us until we recuperate?” As she nodded he gave a weary shrug. “Come along then.” He said, tapping the ground with his cane. “Procrastination was never a virtue.”

I would have protested, I was healing fine, though a normal human would take a month or so to heal the stab wounds I had, in my case shortened to about two weeks. However, I was tired, and the two seemed like they’d drag me off if I didn’t go with them. As I followed my brain continued the process of waking, however partially, and I found myself curious. They seemed disparate personalities, why were they three together? Where were they going to?

A two-storey building emerged from the gloom, built of starkly white stone, it loomed above me. The design is archaic, hearkening back to a time where design embodied opulence grafted onto practicality. Reliefs sculpted just under the roof, depicting men shrouded in cloth engaging a tide of shadows. The ground around the building was debris free, with an accumulation at the edges of the circle. A barrier? I wondered. How was it formed I wonder, certainly not with the magic I’ve witnessed.

“Hmm, are either of you members of the Brigade?” The relaxed man who’d been rubbing my tunic asked. “Or are we going to fry against the barrier for kicks?”

“Well it certainly isn’t me, I’ve never been invited to join this illustrious community, though I do wonder where they went.” The other, posh man exclaimed. “By process of elimination would it then be you my lady?”

“Naw, but I was given this threshold stone, some kinda backup plan or somethin. Should let us through the barrier.” The girl smiled, pulling out a small, flat square pebble, fitted with indents. She stepped confidently forward, passing through the threshold, before reaching across and pulling us across as well.

Curiouser and curiouser… I thought, finding a spot to collapse as my eyes slowly slid shut.