Answers and Wind

I sat across from the boy with golden eyes, the campfire’s warmth battling the chill in my bones. His gaze, deep and shimmering like a restless sea, held me captive. There was a strange comfort in those eyes, a piercing clarity that seemed to strip away my defenses, seeing every corner of my mind—fear, confusion, the grief I buried deep. A gut instinct told me he could unravel any lie, not just mine but anyone’s, with a single glance. Suspicion flickered, but I chose to trust his words, clinging to that fragile lifeline in this alien world.

I took a shaky breath, gathering my thoughts. “I… I fell into a sinkhole,” I began, my voice unsteady. “Back where I’m from, it was an accident at a fair. I hit my head, and when I woke, I was in some underground chamber with rusted walls. I found a tunnel, climbed a ladder, and came out to ruins—skyscrapers overtaken by forest. Then those black figures appeared, moving toward me. A voice called my name, leading me to that old building. This small guy—” I nodded toward my guide, who stood nearby—“helped me, brought me here.” I kept the details of Nora’s death and the clown locked away, the wounds too raw to share. My eyes darted occasionally to the winged man beside the boy, his massive white wings still as stone, his face a mask of indifference, as if my words didn’t reach him. He stood like a sentinel, a close servant, unmoving, his loyalty to the boy palpable yet distant.

As I finished, a wave of fear crashed over me. What if they didn’t believe me? What if this was all a trap? I met the boy’s gaze, bracing for judgment. Instead, he offered a gentle smile, one that said, I understand, I trust you. The tension in my chest eased, a warmth spreading where cold had reigned. For the first time since the sinkhole, I felt a flicker of safety.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth and formal. “I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I am Caligula Raegur, the current master of the Raegaur House.” He murmured my story under his breath, as if committing it to memory, then looked into my eyes again. “I believe every word you’ve spoken.” Relief washed over me, and I returned a tentative smile. He seemed so young—perhaps close to my age, mid-twenties—yet bore the weight of a house’s leadership. How is that possible? I wondered. His smile widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. “It’s a bit complicated,” he said. “A story for another day.”

Before I could voice the question burning in my mind—about this world—he answered it. “I don’t know how you transferred from another plane of existence to this one. Certain individuals possess a strong command over interdimensional magic, but I cannot discern any connection you might have to them.” I blinked, startled. “I’m from a place where magic is just fiction—stories, movies. I’m… honestly surprised it exists here.” My voice trembled with awe.

Caligula’s golden eyes softened, his tone soothing. “Magic exists everywhere. Each plane across the multiverse is a product of power, though it may bear different names. In some places, its presence is keenly felt; in others, it lies dormant, unnoticed.” He paused, then raised his left hand, pointing a finger toward the sky. Words spilled from his lips, a low chant I couldn’t decipher. Above, the dark clouds churned, gathering into a furious tornado. Lightning crackled, winds howled, and the conical mass descended, its tip whirling on his finger. I froze, breath caught in my throat, unable to move. The trees bent under the gale, my hair whipping wildly. The sight—Caligula commanding a tempest with a mere gesture—filled me with terror and wonder.

In an instant, the tornado dispersed, the clouds vanishing to reveal a red sun sinking toward the horizon. Caligula stood, his silver hair glinting, a smile playing on his lips. He glanced at his winged servant, nodding, then turned to me. “It is time for us to leave for the next stop. You should join my group for now, until you find all your answers and feel at ease.”