Callum does not move.
He isn't frozen. He's choosing stillness. There's a difference, even if his body is trembling hard enough that it blurs. The stone beneath his hands is rough and cold, biting into his palms. He presses down harder, grounding himself in the sensation.
Pain means real.Real means not dead.
That helps. A little.
He lifts his head slowly.
The place around him stretches wider the more he looks. What he first thought were scattered ruins resolve into something deliberate. Roads, worn smooth by time. Foundations laid atop older foundations, stone on stone, history stacked carelessly like someone stopped caring about symmetry a long time ago.
This isn't abandoned.
It's old. Used. Lived in.
Smoke rises faintly in the distance, thin threads curling into the strange sky. The light is wrong. Not bright. Not dim. Just… angled differently, like the sun is standing somewhere unfamiliar.
Okay.Okay.
This can still be Earth.
Some remote historical site. Some cultural preservation zone. Somewhere isolated. Somewhere that doesn't get visitors.
That explanation holds. Barely. He grips it like a lifeline.
"Hello?" he calls.
The word echoes. Too clean. Too far.
The sound comes back to him slightly warped, like the air chewed on it before returning it.
That's when he notices the people.
They're not approaching. Not yet.
They're spread out across the ruins, half hidden behind broken walls and pillars. Men and women. Older ones leaning on staffs. Younger ones clutching bundles, tools, baskets. Their clothing is layered, practical. Worn in the way clothes get when they're used every day, not displayed.
They're staring at him.
Not curiosity.
Fear.
A low murmur ripples through them, spreading outward as more notice him.
"Vaen…""Vaen nar?""No gate-song.""I felt it.""Quiet."
Callum swallows.
He pushes himself upright slowly, every movement exaggerated, deliberate. His hands rise partway, palms open.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to trespass."
The words do nothing.
The sound does.
Several people recoil as if his voice itself is wrong. A woman gasps sharply and takes two steps back, fingers tracing a quick, practiced symbol over her chest. A man mutters something under his breath, jaw tight.
"Zha'kel.""Wrong tongue.""Hear how it bends?""That speech is crooked."
Callum's stomach twists.
"Okay," he says, forcing calm. "Language barrier. That's fine. We can figure this out."
He gestures to himself, then makes a vague circling motion.
"I'm lost."
The crowd shifts uneasily.
A man steps forward from the group. Broad shouldered. Older. Leather and metal strapped across his chest in a way that screams function over decoration. He grips a long pole tipped with dull steel.
He points it at Callum and speaks sharply.
"Kor venath."
The people around him stiffen.
Callum flinches.
"I don't understand," he says quickly. "I'm not armed. I don't have anything."
He pats his pockets clumsily, turning them inside out to show they're empty.
Murmurs swell again.
"Ke'sai.""No crest.""No chain.""No mark at all."
A woman near the back whispers something urgently.
"Tal'esh fell. I saw it.""The air folded."
Callum's chest tightens.
He forces a weak smile.
"I think I hit my head," he says. "Can someone call… emergency services?"
Blank stares.
The man with the pole takes another step closer.
Someone throws something.
A shard of stone skids across the ground and stops inches from Callum's foot.
Not meant to kill.
A warning.
Callum takes an involuntary step back.
The reaction is immediate.
Voices rise, overlapping, sharp with fear.
"Kor venath!""Don't let it move!""It bends the ground!""I felt it!"
The pressure blooms in Callum's chest like a vice tightening. The air hums faintly, vibrating against his skin. Dust lifts from the stone at his feet, swirling in thin, uncertain spirals.
Callum gasps, clutching at his shirt.
"I didn't do anything!" he blurts. "I swear!"
The people closest to him stagger back as if pushed.
"Thra—!""By the Fracture—""Did you feel that?""It didn't touch us!""Then why does it—"
Fear shifts.
Sharpens.
Becomes decision.
The man with the pole raises it fully, grip white knuckled.
Callum's vision tunnels.
This is it.
No crowd to disappear into. No street to vanish down. No one forgetting him in time.
He opens his mouth to beg.
A new voice cuts through the chaos.
Low. Calm. Commanding.
"Enn."
The word lands like stone dropped into water.
Everything stills.
A man steps out from between the ruins, cloak brushing broken stone. He walks without hurry, but every step carries weight. His presence changes the air, like a storm being told to wait.
He speaks rapidly.
"Varek. Lower it.""Now."
The polearm dips an inch.
Arguments explode anyway.
"Tal'esh bent!""It appeared without gate!""No mark, no chain!""And yet it stands breathing!"
The man raises a hand.
Silence snaps into place.
He turns his gaze to Callum.
Studies him.
Really studies him.
Not the clothes. Not the posture. His eyes linger on Callum's face. The way he holds himself like someone expecting to be ignored. Like someone used to being overlooked.
Something in the man's expression shifts.
Recognition.
He hesitates.
Then, carefully, as if handling something unstable, he speaks again.
In English.
"You," he says slowly. "Do not move."
Callum's breath catches violently.
"…You speak English."
The man closes his eyes briefly.
"Yes," he says. "Which is unfortunate."
Relief and dread crash together in Callum's chest.
"Okay," he laughs weakly. "Okay, good. Because I was starting to think I'd lost my mind."
The man glances at the crowd, then back.
"This is not a place you reach by accident," he says.
Callum's smile falters.
"…Is this still Earth?"
The man does not answer that.
"My name is Tyrian Wolfgang," he says instead. "And if you remain here, these people will decide you are dangerous."
Callum looks around. At the fear. The weapons still half raised.
"And if I go with you?" he asks.
Tyrian meets his eyes.
"Then you may live long enough to learn where you are."
Callum exhales slowly.
"…Figures."
He steps forward.
The pressure in his chest eases.
And the world allows him to move.