Chương 6: Chapter 5 - Strangers in a Strange Land

Ren stepped out of the tavern and entered into the cool afternoon again, the door creaking shut behind him as his warm breath became visible in the winter air. The tavernkeeper had pointed him toward a tailor near the central square that should supply the dress for Elowen, but Ren's thoughts were already elsewhere, trying to figure out what the strange things the man has said meant. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Varrin stood a few steps away, leaning against the tavern's wooden wall, waiting.

His arms were crossed and his silver hair stirred slightly in the breeze, gaze unfocused as he stared down the empty road.

"You alright?" Ren asked as he walked up to him, adjusting his satchel to sit better on his shoulder as he did. Varrin didn't answer immediately, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he looked toward him in silence.

"... Solaris," he said eventually, pushing himself off the wall, "does that name ring any bells for you?"

"No." Ren answered with a shake of his head.

"I'm pretty sure the capital has always been called Losso?"

"That's what I thought as well," Varrin continued with a frown. Ren chuckled nervously.

"He probably just mixed up the name! We're pretty far out from it, it would seem, so I don't blame him for not remembering." The silver-haired boy gave him an incredulous look and scoffed.

"You really think that a tavernkeeper of all people, someone who constantly hears new news from all sorts of people, doesn't know the name of the capital?" Varrin took a couple slow steps to the centre of the empty dirt road as he continued, "not to mention that this village must get a lot of travellers considering he didn't immediately recognise us as outsiders until we mentioned a foreign concept."

"Then where is everyone?" Ren asked, looking around the seemingly desolate place.

"Exactly!" Varrin said, a hint of pride flashing across his pretty face before he instantly regained his composure.

"It must have something to do with the danger the tavernkeeper said that Agatha person mentioned." Ren swallowed hard and glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, the sense of unease growing further as another gust of cold wind blew through the street.

"Could it be something to do with the demons he mentioned?" he asked.

"Surely not, right?"

"Demons are supposed to be rare," Varrin concurred, walking back to the tavern wall, "even near the borders. If one showed up, the Inquisition dealt with it immediately."

"Just how far out from Losso are we then?" Ren pressed. If he couldn't get back to Yumè and travel to the capital with her, it was going to be extremely hard to earn the coin he would need to cure the Soul Rot in such a short amount of time. Even with his newfound Soul Power. Varrin turned away from Ren and looked toward the small church's steeple that towered over the other building in the village.

"Back home," he said in a voice low, "Pyreridge Valley doesn't exist. Neither does a capital called Solaris."

"…So what are you saying?" Ren asked suspiciously, not liking were this was going.

"As ridiculous as it sounds," the silver-haired boy said, looking back at him, his grey eyes sharp, "I don't think we're on the same continent anymore." Ren felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach as he stared back.

"That's—""—Or," Varrin continued calmly, cutting him off, "we're not in the same world." The words hung in the air between for a moment before Ren took a step back and shook his head.

"That's impossible. I mean, come on! Another world? Pffft. Another world... that's the kind of theory drunk scholars argue over." Varrin shrugged and turned on the dirt, heading in the direction of the church.

"It's just my theory, you're welcome to think what you want."

"It's impossible..." Ren murmured softly to himself before catching up to his companion.

"On the bright side," Varrin said as they walked, "we can understand the language and our Soul Powers still work, thanks to the princesses' demonstration, we know that."

"If this were a hostile displacement, I would've assumed someone with the power to transmigrate people would also have the power to take away our own." A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"We're probably just really far out," Ren tried, "I've heard people can get strange around the borders. That could explain the villagers behaviours?" Varrin scoffed in amusement.

"Refusing to accept the reality in front of you won't make it go away. We can easily check by asking some questions at the church and seeing which of the gods it's dedicated to."

"I do want to hurry this up though," he went on, the dirt crunching under both of their boots, "we might have ousted ourselves with the questions I asked back at the tavern."' It's not possible,'Ren thought,' It can't be possible! Pulled into another world via a dream wasn't even a plot point the heroes in the stories I read as a child had to face.' A slight rumble echoed from ahead of the two boys as a horse-drawn wagon approached them on the main dirt road.

An elven farmer sat atop it, transporting the wheat he had harvested toady. It was something that was very common in Ren's village as well and when the wagon rolled passed, the elf gave them a warm smile before flicking the reins and continuing along his way.' I-I'll just wait for Varrin to be proved wrong.' They entered a decently-sized square where a pole with a bell hung on it stood in the centre. Ren immediately recognised it from the tavernkeeper's set of directions and turned to look at Varrin.

"We still need to get clothes," he said.

"For the princess," Varrin responded with an amused snort.

"Exactly," Ren sighed, glancing around at the buildings that lined the edge of the square, trying to spot the one the tavernkeeper had explained.

"Well don't take too long," the silver-haired boy said. Ren quickly spotted the squat building tucked between a grain store and a cooper's shed and walked towards it. Another faded sign hung above this one's door as well, its paint long since peeled away. A simple needle-and-thread symbol was carved into the wood beneath it.

"This should be it," Ren said, the bell above the door chiming softly as he pushed it open. Warm air greeted them again, heavy with the scent of fleshly washed cloth, dust, and something faintly herbal. Bolts of fabric were stacked haphazardly along the walls, some neatly folded, others slumped and messy. A single window let in muted light, illuminating a counter cluttered with measuring tape, pins, and half-finished garments. Behind it sat an elderly woman, spine curved, grey hair pulled into a tight bun.

She peered at them over the rim of a cracked pair of spectacles, her gaze landing firmly on Varrin.

"…You're not from around here," she said flatly, causing the silver-haired boy to assess her more warily.

"Is it that obvious?" Ren asked with an awkward smile. She snorted and pointed at Varrin.

"I'd know if someone that pretty lived in this village. Travellers don't tend to stop by my shop either, so what brings you hear?" Varrin muttered something under his breath and leant against the door frame, arms crossed and clearly unimpressed.

"We need clothes," Ren said, before quickly adding, "for a woman." The old woman's gaze slid from Varrin to him, then back to Varrin.

"…I won't ask questions," she said after a moment.

"Go ahead and browse." Ren nodded gratefully and began looking through the racks. Most of the clothes were practical—woollen dresses, linen tunics, sturdy cloaks meant for work rather than appearance. Nothing fancy and definitely nothing noble. A lot of them were woven out of orange and yellow fabrics and many of the pieces had sun or fire motifs embroidered on them, which Ren had never seen else where.

After a few minutes of deliberation, and with absolutely no input from Varrin, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, Ren settled on a simple outfit: a long-sleeved linen dress in muted blue, a belt, and a thicker shawl for warmth.

"This should do," he murmured, carrying the bundle to the counter.

"How much?"

"Two silver," the old woman said after eyeing the clothes for a moment. Ren winced slightly and nodded as he reached into his satchel, retrieving the little amount of coin he kept in there for emergencies. Placing the coins on the counter, they made a familiar sound as they clinked together, but the woman didn't reach for them. Instead, she frowned and picked one up between two fingers, turning it over before holding it closer to her eye.

"…What's this?"

"Silver," Ren said automatically, a little confused.

"Same as always." Her frown deepened and she pulled open a small drawer and set one of her own coins beside it. The material looked identical, the same dull whitish gleam as his coin. Same weight as well, as far as Ren could tell, but the motifs on the two coins were different. Hers bore a simple crest, a sun nesting on a flame, the same symbol he saw the tapestry in the tavern depicting, while his showed a crowned icon he'd seen his whole life.

"I can't take these," the old woman said matter-of-factly. Ren froze.

"What? Why not?"

"The material looks the same," she answered, tapping the two coins, "but the mint isn't. The markings are all wrong, I've never even seen yours before in my whole life, and I've lived a long time." His stomach dropped and the feeling of unease he had before, the same one he'd just managed to push down, came rushing back.

"I—sorry," he said quickly.

"What currency do you take?"

"Same as it's always been," the old woman told him as she leant back slightly and pointed at her silver coin again.

"That hasn't changed in three centuries."

"I see," Ren said quietly, his mouth dry. Behind him, he heard Varrin shuffle a little.

"I'm sorry," he said again, grabbing his coins before moving to gather the clothes back into his arms as heat creeped up his neck.

"I didn't mean to waste your time." The old woman shooed him way, not allowing him to replace the clothes he'd brought over.

"Don't bother kid. Just figure out where you belong before you try buying things, boy." She continued to study both Ren and Varrin as they stepped back out into the cold square, the afternoon sun well on its way to dipping into the horizon. The moment the door shut, Ren let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, but it didn't easy the sick feeling in his stomach.

"…Well," Varrin muttered, "that could've gone better for you." He felt foolish and scared. Stranded in a way that no amount of walking could fix. On top of all that, all his hard work saving coin for his sister was seemingly undone in an instant. Was Varrin actually right? Were they transmigrated into another world? How long would it be until he could make it back to Yumè? Was that even possible anymore?

"Hmm," Varrin mused loudly, staring thoughtfully down at the dirt road while Ren began to spiral.

"That confirms it at least."' Don't say it,' Ren thought desperately, gripping onto the strap of his satchel in an attempt to ground himself.

"We're not just far from home," the silver-haired boy continued, his uncaring grey eyes flicking towards him.

"We're in another world entirely."