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Why does this place have to be so solemn? It’s really getting on my nerves. 

I slide into the room and catch a flicker of movement as someone straightens themselves in their chair. That’s all I can really see here — a dim candle flickering upon a table with many chairs around it. Maybe there are intricate patterns lining the dark hue of the wood, but from here it’s really hard to tell.

I can’t catch the details of the edges of the room, but a slight breeze tells me how large this place is, and that maybe somewhere there’s an open window too. I can feel the majesty of this wooden hall, though, even in the dark. Where I come from, the most majestic of our rooms were built up from gleaming tiles, red and green and blue, with slender patterns of gold fish dancing across the mosaics. But something here tells me this is more than a glittering imperial banquet. Something here speaks of home, of camaraderie, of peace, even though the realm is foreign to me.

Four people have already taken seats, and I approach to do likewise, but I draw my hand back before I touch the wide, oaken back of the one nearest me. R. J. Karas. I glimpse a stone tower on the side of this one before my eyes dart away, skimming the names, almost afraid to look at the details. Rachel. Chalice. A slightly larger chair, with a stylized Daeus looms before me. Is this our leader? I eye the girl sitting next to our leader’s chair, her clothes stained from travel, then each of the three other people present. Where have we come from? What are our stories? 

Somehow, the idea that each of us has travelled, near or far, to be here eases something in me. I may not have come the farthest distance. Who’s to say I’m the most exotic? My fears of being left out slip away, replaced by a desire to know more, to share in each one of these people’s stories.

But first, I need to sit down.

My chair is smooth and cold to the touch. Grace. Rays of light are carved into the top, and going on down is a dizzy pattern of patterned skies, stars, mountains that seem painfully familiar and all kinds of seas. Places I’ve been. Places I will go. And tucked between those two mountains — is that a pineapple field?

As I slide into my seat, I notice with a puzzle that a gilded pocket-watch swings from the left arm of the chair on a silver swing. It’s beautiful. I slip the chain over my neck and open it to see the second arm make a circuit around the whole thing, with a gentle tick, tick, tick. 

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice pierces the silence, and I snap my head up.