"Welcome to Vrynn, Eshari!"
The voice carried clear and firm across the open grounds.
An old man stepped forward into view, his pace steady, the hem of an intricate white robe brushing the stone as he moved.
In one hand he held an ornate staff topped with a crystal that pulsed faintly, the glow rising and falling as he addressed the gathered crowd.
"Eshari," he went on, lifting his chin slightly, "meaning outlanders in the old tongue… but hopefully the system is translating our words automatically so all will hear and understand equally."
His tone was measured, practiced—like someone used to speaking to large groups without shouting.
Razan and the others who had just managed to stand turned their attention toward him.
The old man's speech indeed reached them as if he spoke their native language, each word slipping into their minds without effort.
It didn't matter where they were from or what they spoke back home—the meaning landed cleanly.
Razan felt the strangeness of that settle in,
whatever force ran this place was making sure everyone understood the same message.
"It would take some time for your bodies to get used to this place," the old man said as he climbed the wide steps and walked onto the massive central platform.
The surface beneath his feet gave off a faint hum, like the platform itself held power, and each tap of his staff sounded crisp against the stone.
"And you may probably be wondering where are the rest of the Eshari?" he continued.
He lifted the staff.
*wooosh!
It gave a low whirr, light threading up the shaft to the crystal.
Above him, the air flickered—then shaped into broad projections, windows showing distant locations as if they were hanging in the sky.
Forest clearings, city plazas, windswept fields—crowds just like this one waking and gathering, faces tilted up.
"They are all now successfully returned, just like you, just scattered at different waypoints around Vrynn."
One woman—an Eshari—rose to her feet.
The motion drew eyes at once.
She stood taller than most nearby, her presence sharp and unmistakable:
Small black horns curved from her temples, her skin held a deep red tone, and her eyes glowed with a molten gold that seemed to burn from within.
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd as heads turned toward her.
"D-Demon…!" a human blurted, fear tightening his voice as he took an uneasy step back.
An elf with long, tapered ears frowned, gaze hard.
"Evikar! A beast written in ancient tomes!" he snapped, citing a beast that could be read from old elven tomes.
"Nay! Those are the children of Dregmor! Denizens of mount Dragkarr!" a dwarf barked, thick fingers tightening around the shaft of a heavy battle hammer.
Yet the horned woman let the noise pass over her.
She scanned the faces around her—human, elf, dwarf, and others—reading their suspicion, fear, hostility, and curiosity.
Then she lifted her chin and addressed the robed elder at the center.
Her voice was steady, clear.
"For what reason are we summoned here, old man?"
"For what else?" the man replied quickly, raising a fisted hand.
"To live! Nothing more and nothing less."
"But how can we live in such a place?" another voice called out, calm but firm.
A male elf stepped from the crowd into the open.
He moved with quiet confidence, his shoulders relaxed yet straight, as if standing before large groups was normal to him.
A long bow rested across his back, the curve of the wood smooth and elegant.
Faint lines of light pulsed along the limbs, a slow rhythm that suggested power sleeping inside the weapon.
His clothing was clean and fitted, trimmed with subtle patterns that marked nobility—fine travel leathers, a shoulder clasp bearing a leaf-and-star sigil, a thin circlet braided into his dark hair.
"We do not know the customs here," he continued, projecting his voice without shouting.
"Nor do we have the supplies or coin to survive in these foreign lands—which, I am sure, follow an entirely different currency system."
There was no panic in his words, only reason and caution.
He looked from the elder to the projections still hanging in the sky,
then back again,
as if measuring how prepared this place truly was for the flood of arrivals.
A murmur rolled through the elves clustered near the front.
Heads lifted.
Spines straightened.
"...Prince Eredyn…!"
"...The P-Prince!"
"...So even the Prince is here…!"
Recognition spread fast.
Some elves bowed their heads on reflex, others pressed a hand to their chest.
A few from other races glanced between the prince and the elder, reassessing the weight of the question now that it carried a title.
Eredyn didn't acknowledge the whispers.
He kept his gaze on the robed speaker, steady, expecting for an answer.
And so the elder did.
"We would have that covered, don't you worry," the elder replied at last, giving a single, slow nod that settled the noise.
He raised one finger, not to scold, but to mark the next point of his words.
"But all of you shall be tested first to determine how large of a benefit you shall receive," the man's eyes turned serious.
Haeryn, standing close beside Razan, nudged his arm lightly with her elbow to get his attention.
"Psst! Hey...!"
He turned at once, meeting her eyes as she kept her voice low.
"What?" Razan raised a brow.
"Elves… dwarves… and some kind of horned species around us… it's like we're in some fantasy fiction novel or something…whatever the old man's accommodation is, let's accept it for now," she whispered, folding her arms as her gaze moved across the crowd.
She was right.
Pointed ears.
Short, broad figures with thick gear.
Red-skinned people with glowing eyes.
Only in fiction and movies you could see such a bizarre sight like these.
Haeryn then swallowed and leaned in a little closer.
"And we even have a prince of the elves!"
"Hah!"
Razan let out a short scoff.
"Yesterday we were on Earth, now we're in a land of hibbity-jibbity fantasy. How fun."
He shifted his stance and reached down, gripping the straps of his two bags—the ones that, thankfully, had made it through with him.
The weight and feel of them grounded him, steadying his breath as he slid them higher onto his shoulders.
"Thankfully, I have prepared for situations like these."
"Situations like what?" Haeryn asked.
"Situations we would need to fend for ourselves if we were to fail a challenge—not saying we'd fail though—just in case," he replied promptly, highlighting the word 'just'.