Zach slept well that night, his mind undisturbed by dreams or nightmares. He hadn’t much of a chance to think about the meaning of that ominous vision, but it seemed clear enough. There was someone searching for him, and if they found him, everything would be lost. The only confusing part was the faces he didn’t know. Were those supposed to be people he would come to know? People he’d known but forgotten? Past lives? He couldn’t say.

Another thing that bothered him was the issue of actually being summoned to this world. Why him? He had yet to display any awe-inspiring powers or superior skill in combat, and he had already had a chance. Did someone slip up and summon the wrong person? He needed to find out who had brought him here, but he hadn’t a clue where to even begin looking. Magic was part of this world, so it was natural to assume that there were magi who could perform spells that might have the power to reach into other worlds. Those that had found him had certainly not seemed very shocked at his appearance. They had called the place he had spawned in a Gateway. Perhaps if he went back there, he might be able to return.

When he awoke, he was forced to squint his eyes, beams of light streaming down on him. He batted the air before realizing his folly, then, grumbling, he stood and stretched, searching for his shoes. It was a strange look, sneakers with medieval commoner wear, but it was better than going barefoot. His socks were still fine, if a little smelly, he just needed to wash them at some point in the future. He went downstairs, yawning, wishing he had a toothbrush and toothpaste. How did people keep their breath clean back in the day? The tavern was mostly empty, Mistress Ithia setting the tables as the other workers moved things around and cleaned. It was a nice atmosphere—the feeling of work being done thick in the air.

He nodded at everyone, walking out into the street. The town wasn’t the largest, at least compared to modern-day equivalents back home, but the man, Kriese he had called himself, said it was a small trek outside of town. Kriese had been frustratingly vague about what his ‘job’ was, and that of course meant there was certainly going to be some Mr. Miyagi-level shenanigans going on. Mistress Ithia had been his lore NPC, telling him about Kriese’s background information. Apparently, he had fought for the Goldskins decades ago and had come back home to retire. He was a widower with a small plot of land and came into town to drink, but otherwise, he kept to himself.

If this was a game or movie, it was the typical mentor stereotype. The old man wants to teach the young as a sort of penance, they bond, and the young pupil helps out the old master as much as the opposite was true. That was just fine with him. It had been difficult at first for him to realize that nothing here really mattered. Their lives ultimately meant nothing to him. He just needed to get home, and whatever he had to do to get back, he should do. In that respect, they really were simply more advanced NPCs.

But there was that persistent thought that nagged at him...did he want to go back? What was really there for him in his old life? Yes, playing video games was fun, and something he really did miss, but his future was bleak. He simply lacked the discipline needed to go through life. He knew that. He understood that. It was why he’d tried to find a way out before, but when he realized he was too much of a coward to even go through with that, then what was he to do? He didn’t know. Instead, he had languished for years. People always told him he was too smart to be doing nothing, that he was wasting his potential. But what potential did he really have? He was good at games, and that was only because he spent all his time playing them. Maybe he wasn’t even good at that, really.

He made it out of town, walking along a small highway that overlooked one of the many creeks in the area. Trees dotted the path, sometimes obscuring the water below, but otherwise, it was a fine view. He stopped for a bit just to admire the scenery. It felt familiar in a way. Like he had been here before, but he supposed he had. The developers who made large sandbox RPGs had to base their worlds on something, and this was as generic a scene as they come. Still, being there in the moment, it felt different. Better. He couldn’t quite place his finger on why or how he felt that way, but the sounds, the smell in the air, the feeling that pulsed around him...

It felt nice. It really did.

Energized, he continued his way towards Kriese’s house, humming as he did so.

“Take a right just past the bend of the creek on your right, there you’ll see a field and a lone tree.”

He did. It wasn’t much of a tree, crooked and tilted as it was, but it was undoubtedly the landmark the man spoke of. He saw the man’s house—though it was more of a shack—in the distance, a wooden fence delineating where his property began.

“I live alone, so don’t think no one’s home just ‘cause nothing’s much going on around. I keep to myself, usually do work in the morning and rest a bit in the afternoon.”

Now that was where the breakdown began. There was a host of men atop steeds and mounts surrounding the old man’s home. There wasn’t much for him to hide himself in, but he took to the shrubs and bushes before they spotted him. He cursed as loose thorns poked and prodded him, scratching his skin and opening up small wounds, but he would have to bear it. His eyesight wasn’t superb, but they seemed to gleam and sparkle like the sun in the distance. He inched closer along the line of shrubbery, straining to see exactly who they were. It was slow going, but he forged ahead. He’d likely be scratching at himself all night.

He crouched along, nearing the fence, and he was finally able to get a good look at the assembly gathered outside. They were dressed in heavy plate armor that fully covered them, shining gold in the midday sun. A tabard lay across their chests, bearing an insignia, a flaming sword above a hill. He was no detective, but these had to be the Goldskins he had been warned of. Soldiers of the United Empire, and from the way others spoke of them, they were not a friendly bunch.

So why were so many of them gathered outside Kriese’s home?

Was this some kind of test? Was the man challenging his mettle by seeing if he would walk brazenly into a small army of men? Well, he planned on failing this test and failing it hard. He still lacked critical information about his possible enemies in this world. What if they knew what he looked like? He’d simply be walking into a poorly-laid trap, willingly activating it. Even if it was some kind of reverse-psychology gimmick, it was downright moronic to proceed. He sat watching, as it was the only thing he could do. Unfortunately, that meant baking in the sun, thorns still sticking him, and he could distinctly feel insects creeping over his body. It was enough to make a man scream, but he held firm, somehow.

The men for the most part did not speak amongst each other much, standing still and remaining alert. How they had not seen him on his approach, he did not know, but they had the air of strong discipline. He had expected them to be a band of bullies, their strongest quality being the air of menace they bore, but they seemed to be the real deal. That was decidedly not good for him. After some time, the door to the shack opened and a man walked out, his helmet at his side. He seemed to speak a few words to the men before mounting his own horse, and they left in short order after he donned his equipment, riding off towards him. They slowed as they neared him, and he realized as they approached that they very easily saw him.

They remained on their mounts, staring at him expectantly, and he exited the bushes hesitantly, raising his arms in surrender as he slowly walked towards them.

He did not speak, waiting for their word so that he could understand how to navigate the situation. The leader, an officer of some sort he surmised by his aura of command and general mien, spoke first, saying, “Curious to find a visitor so cautious of the Goldskins these days. You’ve not the look of one native to these parts, boy. Where are you from?” His tone was light, casual. He might have been asking how the weather was. It was difficult to judge his intent without being able to see his face, but he knew the man was seeking more than what was on the surface. Time was ticking, however, and he couldn’t stand there thinking all day.

“Bharinia,” he said, remembering the name of one of the countries Egan had mentioned before. He was a bit on the darker side compared to those that lived in Riverton, and that sounded foreign enough that maybe there were some fellow brown of skins out there in the world. The only issue was that he suspected it was somewhere far away, and his suspicions were soon proven correct.

“Bharinia?” the officer said in surprise, “you’re far from home then, traveler. What brings you here? Kriese isn’t famed for his friendliness, nor is he of the inviting sort.”

“I--” he realized that he had no idea what a Bharinian even sounded like. The man was obviously suspicious of him, and not having the right accent would be a dead giveaway. Bharinian? That sounded close enough to some sort of South Asian, Middle-Eastern type of tongue. He was about to offend some Bharinian’s, but he had to give it a shot. He only hoped it was close enough.

“I have business with the old man, a service he has offered to render, yes?” He was going to Hell for butchering this accent. He sounded like a mix between a terrible Bollywood movie and the Peddler from Aladdin. “What business is it of yours what I do with my time, Goldskin?”

“Typical Bharinian. They don’t know when to show respect,” one of the soldiers said, moving his mount towards Zach threateningly. How the fuck did that actually work?

The officer held up a hand, studying him shrewdly, “Sorry to bother you then, my friend. Take care, and let the sands bear you swiftly,” he intoned.

A customary greeting endemic to a specific country? That was useful. He felt like an achievement should have popped up telling him he had acquired a certain amount of lore for his in-game journal, but he stowed that feeling away and said, “And you, my friend,’ giving him a half-bow.

The officer nodded curtly at him and turned his mount away, yelling, “Form! Present. Ride!” and the whole lot of them took off at a gallop, silhouettes fading into the tree line. The whole exchange had been less than a few minutes, but he could feel that bloom of anxiety sprouting deep in his gut. He needed to get it in his head that they were just sentient AI. That’s all. He shouldn’t be scared of talking to them or interacting with them. They weren’t real. Not like he was, anyways. He was a Chosen One. Why should he be nervous? He had plot armor, that conversation had proven that. Still, the shrewd look in the officer’s eyes had unnerved him. It was as if he had seen right through him. Yet, he had let him go. What that could possibly mean, he wasn’t sure of, but for now he needed to focus on his upcoming training. That was the most important thing.

He walked past the fence, over the trampled grass and fresh hoofprints. He wrinkled his nose as he carefully maneuvered around a pile of horse dung. No one ever mentioned how much the damn animals smelled. There was a single window to the left of the door, and he peered into it after knocking a few times, wondering where the man was. Kriese couldn’t have gone far in the short time he took to walk over here, yet he stood waiting a few minutes, unsure if he should just walk inside or not. He was about to knock again when he noticed movement in his peripheral, the man coming around the house. He was bare-chested and hairy, a scowl and squint on his face.

“I told you to come around to the back, boy, didn’t I?” he asked.

Zach frowned in thought. He didn’t really recall that being mentioned, but he did tend to forget things in the short-term, small details like that. “Sorry, I forgot,” he settled on awkwardly. He didn’t really know what else to say. It wasn’t a great second impression.

“S’alright,” the man grumbled, turning around and waving him to follow. He followed in silence. He really couldn’t remember Kriese telling him anything like that. He told him where he lived, and that if it didn’t look like he was home he still probably was. This was always happening to him. How was he ever supposed to function as an adult if he couldn’t even remember simple directions? Well, that’s what Mom always said, anyways. He had to agree. It was just one of the many, many reasons he-

“Zachary,” said a voice, and he snapped out of his daydreaming with a slight jump, looking up at the source. The man had a concerned look on his face, though the scowl remained. “You all right, boy?”

“Yeah,” he replied, still thinking about his mistake. “I’m fine.”

“I see,” said Kriese slowly, as if he didn’t believe him. “Well, no doubt you were expecting me to be alone, so to see the Army here might have been a bit of a shock. But why in Halgandar’s Hammer did you think that hiding in a bush was a good idea? It’s not a crime to walk outside.”

“I...” he said, trailing off faintly. Well, he was the main character of whatever the hell was going on in this world, wasn’t he? The protagonist? It made sense that a squad of men working for the antagonist would immediately recognize him and be hostile. If this was a game at least, that’s how it would go. Such an interaction would serve as a nice segue into the combat tutorial, teaching him first how to attack, then block, then dodge and perhaps use a special skill or ultimate ability.

Instead, he had hid in a bush. Pretty fucking lame, he had to admit.

“I just—well, Pevarin and the others had mentioned the Goldskins. They never had anything good to say about them.”

The old man sighed heavily, giving him a sad smile, “I see we’re still viewed favorably by the common people, eh? Yes, I suppose they wouldn’t tell you much about the good the Goldskins do. Well, I can’t say they are wrong to feel the way they do. You know I used to serve the United Empire, don’t you?”

He thought about lying for a moment, but it didn’t seem worth it. The man was a soldier. He had family that had served in the military back home. Honesty and integrity were huge with them. “Yeah. Mistress Ithia told me.”

He nodded expectantly. “Good of you to check my background. You should never take someone’s word at face. Plenty of people out there who’ll do a fool wrong quicker than he can turn his head. The only way to avoid that is to not be a fool in the first place. Now, sit,” he said, squatting down in the grass himself, the wind blowing a welcome breeze over the small field they stood in. He took a look at the dirt and squalid patches of grass around him before following the other man’s lead.

“Now, first, what did they ask you? What did you tell them?” said Kriese.

“Uh, he—the lead officer—asked me what business I had here, basically. Oh, he asked me where I was from, too.” He remembered that last part with a slight cringe of his shoulders. That accent really had been downright offensive.

“I take it you weren’t stupid enough to tell him the truth, were you?”

“No. Well, yeah, sort of. I told him I was here to see you, but otherwise, I told him that I was from Bharinia.”

“Bharinia?” the man said, brows raising in surprise, “What the hell made you pick that forsaken sand-trap? How do you even know of it?”

“I heard someone mention it once,” he said, half-embarrassed, half-proud, “And it sounded just foreign enough to fit my look,” he finished, gesturing at his skin.

“It’s also across the damn Empire, lad,” he said, the man chuckling. “You don’t sound very Bharinian either. Did you factor that into your grand deception?”

“Yeah, I spoke like this,” he said, laying on the accent thick, and the man nearly keeled over in laughter, and Zach joined him. It was pretty funny when he thought about it. Once the man had recovered, “hoo”-ing under his breath and muttering “Bharinian” in amused bewilderment, he said, “You understand he did not believe you for one second, don’t you?” Zach dropped his smile. He had figured as much.

“Yeah. I got the feeling he wasn’t buying it.”

“He’s a shrewd man, Omaric,” said Kriese, nodding his head, eyes closed. “Young for his rank, and he’s seen combat. Real combat,” he finished, the last two words said softly.

“How bad is that? Am I in trouble?” he asked. If that was the case, he’d had to leave immediately. Getting captured had to be on the decidedly-not-good tier of viable options.

“No. It’s not as if you’ve committed a crime just for possibly lying about where you’re from. He can’t verify it anyhow. But you’ve definitely aroused his interest, and for you, a young man in the world trying to find your footing, that is not a good thing. Especially so, because you are not from this world, either.” said Kriese.

He had felt this coming. Kriese made no move, and stayed perfectly still and calm. It wasn’t him cornering Zach, he was just stating an obvious fact. “You could tell?” That was a dumb question. He’d really made no effort to hide it besides with the Goldskins. He hadn’t really thought that he’d need to, but he supposed that was a bit naïve.

“Any fool with ears and eyes could tell. Watching you walk around in that big white coat or cloak or whatever it was is proof enough to name you Outlander. And they’re nothing more than a myth in these parts.”

“But the Goldskins knowing is bad, right?” he said, pushing things back to the United Empire. He needed to know if he was safe. Getting SWAT’ed (or GOLD’ed, he should say) in his tavern room wasn’t something he looked forward to.

“I hesitate to say that it is bad, but it isn’t good. The Goldskins aren’t what your friends would have you believe, but I admit that we’ve done wrong in the past. It was part of why I left.” he said, disappearing into his memories for a moment before returning, then saying, “But like all things, there is good and bad and everything in between beyond the surface. Pevarin and his ilk would condemn the same men that have saved thousands of lives simply for the wrongs committed by men those boys and men protecting the world have never even met, nor ever will.”

“But yet you’re telling me not to trust them, right?” said Zach, and the man gave him a look of sufferance.

“No,” he growled, “I am simply telling you not to be a fool. Trust first yourself, then others when they have given you reason to do so.”

“Then can I trust you?” he wanted to ask, but riling the bear as things stood seemed a poor option.

“As I said,” the man said, smiling knowingly at him, “trust no one until they have given you reason to. Have I given you reason to trust me yet?”

He thought for a moment. “Not really,” he said uncomfortably.

“Then don’t,” he said, grinning wide, “Now, a man you don’t trust is going to teach you how to at least not cut yourself with a sword. Let’s pray to all the gods that’ll hear us you don’t die.”