I startled awake and immediately jumped to my feet, banged my head on the low ceiling, and nearly fainted with the sudden pain. Tears of pain filled my eyes.
“Futu-?i mor?ii m?-tii!” I cried out, too groggy and self-shocked to even know what I was saying.
The whole racket screeched to a stop.
“Klaus,” Eternity’s unmistakably dry voice whispered in my ear, “there are cubs present. Please be considerate with your language.”
“What?”
I blinked. Then blinked again to clear my vision. It took several more tries. I had to raise a hand and steady myself against the ceiling as the entire room spun. There was the taste of old sock in the back of my throat, and my stomach threatened full acid rebellion.
When I did manage to get a good look around, I found myself surrounded by a… what do you even call a group of twenty to thirty rabbits? A school? Horde? Swarm? Horde sounds better.
There was a horde of tiny rabbits as far as the eye could see, filling up the room entirely. Another bunch was outside the room, clustered around the door, peering in as if I were some kind of oddity of nature.
Well, from their point of view, I probably was. The tallest of them was barely waist-high for me… not to mention all the other glaring differences between myself and a regular iepurran.
As one, they all bowed.
“We are sorry for disturbing your rest, honoured guest. Please accept our regret with grace,” they said in a tinny chorus.
Then they exploded into frantic action before I had a chance to marshal my wits and process the morning. My head throbbed.
A group surrounded me and they were all speaking over each other while trying to climb one another. It was at about this point that I gained enough of my faculties to realise I was surrounded by children.
“Ah… cubs,” I said as Eternity’s meaning finally hit me. “Why—”
My words drowned in the deluge of questions:
“Where did you come from, honoured guest?”
“Do your ears grow bigger? Will you look like that forever? My ears are still growing and mama says they’ll be longer than hers.”
“Can I touch your sword? Is it a real sword?”
“Why don’t you have any fur? Did you also roll in a stinkslime and had to be shaved?”
This last one was delivered by one cub whose fur was like the fuzz on a peach, barely covering its pink skin. It wore a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of oversized pants, in contrast to the others’ togas.
“Eklil?” I called out, unsure of what to do.
More voices were clamouring in the next room, and I could just barely make out Eklil’s calm tone answering his own barrage.
“I’ll be with you momentarily, honoured guest,” the wizened village chief called out. “I do apologise for the noise. I expected them here in the afternoon.”
I was spinning in place, trying to get the curious cub away from my sword. It had gotten hold of the handle and was dutifully trying to pull the weapon out.
“No, no,” I said, wadding through the little army and trying not to step on any of their toes, “this is not a toy. Please let go.”
In spite of his best efforts, which included holding a foot against my leg to yank harder, the cub didn't manage to pull it out even a centimeter. It only slid out when I pulled it away from him, but just barely. Once the blue blade was visible, the others rioted.
“Can we see the sword?” about half of the children asked at the same time. “Please? Can we see it?”
The other half, I realised, were busy chasing Eternity around the room. They barrelled into me as the dragon avatar came to land on my shoulder, letting out a thin tendril of smoke. The kids were all jumping, trying to reach it. One nearly punched me in the eye in the attempt.
“Okay, okay, kids,” I said, feeling somewhat coherent. “I’ll draw the sword out.” For emphasis, I raised the scabbard over their heads and slid the blade out a bit more, not the easiest feat with an arm mummy-wrapped. That got a collective coo of admiration from all of them. “But you all have to promise to stop jumping around and be still.”
“We promise. We promise,” came the chorus of voices. “Show us the sword.”
I did. A collective gasp of awe filled the room when the sword slipped free of the scabbard. It was magnificent seeing their beady eyes lighting up as I showed off the blade.
“Are you sure it’s not a toy weapon?” one of them asked, and the question was picked up by others.
“Of course it’s not a toy, stupid,” another answered with the haughty tone of one more mature by five minutes. “It’s made of glass. Can’t you see?”
“That’s stupid,” another said. “Glass breaks when you hit stuff with it.”
“It’s a holy weapon.” This was one the sweater-wearing one. “The honoured guest is a holy warrior!”
Before I could deny, they all gasped in awe.
“But why is it blue?”
“Is it sharp?”
“Can I hold it?”
“No. I want to hold it.”
Aaand, that started up again. There was no pause between questions long enough for me to get an answer in.
“That’s quite enough, children,” Eklil said as he walked into the room. I was never more thankful to be joined by an actual adult. “Be respectful to our guest and let him get dressed.”
“But why doesn’t he have any hair?” the kids chorused.
Thankfully, I hadn’t undressed fully the previous night. I’d only taken off my shirt and boots, sat on the bed, and drank the tonic for an instant knockout. I was still wearing my jeans when the morning assault had begun. I shuddered to think of what other kinds of questions the cubs would’ve come up with otherwise.
“It’s ok,” I said as I re-sheathed the sword. “I don’t mind them. What’s going on?”
A second adult iepurran walked into the room and clapped her hands in the manner of mothers everywhere trying to get the attention of hyperactive kids. All the children turned as one.
“That’s enough, everyone,” she said in a low, soothing voice. “Come and show your elder what you’ve brought him. Form a line. Good, just like that.”
As she led the group out of the room, I looked to Eklil. He wore the same expression on his face as all grandparents do when faced with the hordes of their descendants. It took about a minute for the room to empty, after which he bowed his head to me.
“Join us for breakfast if you’d like, honoured guest. And it would honour me if you’d join my family and I for tea afterwards.”
Ah. Well, that made me feel like an ass. Eklil had invited me to drink with him when we’d gotten back the previous day, but I’d ignored him and went to sulk alone. I didn’t know if my behaviour was some sort of big faux pas there, so I simply nodded and said, “I’ll be there in a minute. Just need to wash a little.”
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I still smelled ripe with sweat from the previous day’s training, and I didn’t dare ask to use the bathhouse again. I didn’t know what a stinkslime was, but that kid’s question had made me wonder at my aroma.
The noise picked up as I gave myself a quick refresh in the armpit area, and had a look at my face reflected in the sword’s blade. Stubble was growing on my cheek, as patchy as ever before in my twenties. I ignored it for now.
“Did I…” I began, but stopped when I realised I didn’t exactly know how to frame my question. Eternity was still on my shoulder, puffing out smoke rings from time to time.
“Have I been very rude last night?” I asked. “By refusing his invitation?”
“No,” Eternity said. “It is not considered rude within iepurran society to refuse an invitation. However, after a second refusal, it would fall to you to re-initiate the social contract.”
Oh. I considered that as I marshalled my courage to step out. I hadn’t meant to be an ass to Eklil, but genuinely enjoying a day of work brought up some complicated feelings for me and it was getting harder to keep them down. As much as I was enjoying my time with the iepurrans, there was a feeling growing inside me that I recognized all too well, like pressure building up beneath the earth for a geyser eruption.
I would need to move on. Find something new to immerse myself into. I was enjoying this place too much, mechabirds notwithstanding, but it wasn’t something that could last. There was very little mental distance between this feeling and the crash that followed it, and I knew what a complete ass I became when that flip happened.
If all I had to do here was clear the dungeon, I had accomplished that. I made a mental note to have another look at it after I confirmed there were no more glitch artefacts prowling the countryside. After that, it would be time to move on. It would be better that way.
As fate had it, I was provided with just the right catalyst the moment I stepped into Eklil’s study room. And I knew there and then exactly what I wanted next.
Despite the other iepurran’s suggestion to form a line, all the kids were again piled around Eklil, each one holding something above their heads and hopping up and down to be first to show their elder what they’ve brought. It was adorable, especially as they all dragged Eklil around.
“Good morning,” I said to the other two adults in the room. They were sitting at one of the tables, each with a mug of Eklil’s tea in front of them. A whole carriage’s worth of suitcases—leather, by the looks of them—were heaped against one wall.
Then, just as I tried to count all the children, my attention snagged on what they were holding.
Each one had a photo held above his or her head. My jaw dropped and I barely heard the introduction from the others.
I snapped back a moment later and bowed to the two as they were bowing to me.
“I… errr… sorry, I didn’t catch your names,” I mumbled, still staring as the kids were trying their best to monopolise Eklil’s attention.
“I am Ienella,” the female said. She was the one that had come in and corralled the children earlier. “Elder Eklil is my father.” Now that she mentioned it, I could see the resemblance in the shape of her ears and eyes.
“This one is proud to be Velin,” the other said, bowing lower. “Elder Eklil has accepted me as part of his esteemed family.” He was a brown-furred iepurran, slightly taller than most I’d seen so far, with what I was coming to view as a muscular build for iepurrans. He wasn’t wearing a toga, but loose-fitting pants and an open-chest shirt, brightly coloured.
“I’m Klaus,” I said, trying to commit the names to memory. “I’m… uh… a guest of Eklil’s.” It was hard to tear my eyes away from the photos.
All of them were in colour. They were glossy. There was also another stack of them on the table next to Ienella and Velin.
Ienella was the first to notice my interest.
“Are you interested in the echoscripts, honoured guest?” she asked.
“Echoscripts? You mean the photos?”
She tilted her head and blinked, confused. Okay, they didn’t know the term photo but the objects were exactly that. I ran the word through my head, trying to see where the overlap lay.
Photography got its name from the idea of using light to draw. Their version suggested some kind of echo… writing? How would that even work?
Ienella drew the topmost photo and handed it to me. It depicted the shaved cub mid-leap into a lake, one hand covering its nose, the other holding down its tiny ears.
Two things were immediately different from what I understood as photographs.
First, they weren’t printed on paper. Instead, the echoscripts were imprinted on a rectangular piece of hair-thin glass. The object was rigid and so sharp that I expected it would cut me. Nothing happened when I squeezed the edges a bit tighter. I just felt pressure when I tested the edge with a thumb.
Then Ienella demonstrated the second difference. Her fingers gently guided mine in how to hold the small rectangle… and the image moved. My jaw dropped lower as the tiny figure splashed into the water. Then the ripples cleared and the figure ran up the hill again and leapt back in. On and on.
“Wow,” was all I could say at the moment.
They had photography.
And it moved with no obvious source of power.
“He really likes that spot and wanted to show his elder from how high he can jump in,” Ienella explained.
“Wow,” I repeated, too dumbstruck to form any kind of intelligent observation.
Photos. Or, rather, echoscripts. They existed here. And, by the looks of things, they were relatively easily available. That thought woke me up entirely and lit a fire under my arse.
“Eternity,” I blurted, still staring at the little guy leaping into the water, “what’s the technological level of this world?” It was testament to how scatterbrained and addled I’d been for the last couple of days that it had never occurred to me to ask.
“I’m not certain I understand what you need to know,” Eternity said.
“Compared to Earth?” I said.
“I do not know at this moment. I have no direct knowledge of Earth. I assume you refer to your original world and not any of the other Earth-designated worlds that I do know of.”
“This is not technology, honoured guest,” Ienella cut in. “This is the work of a moment-binder. We hire one each cycle, before we come visit for the Night of Roses.”
I deflated at that. “Magic, you mean?”
“If that’s what you wish to call it, yes.”
Well… fuck. My dreams of getting my hands on some sort of Oresstria-made camera just went up in flames. I puffed my cheeks and let out a tired sigh, handing over the echoscript.
“I assume I can’t learn that, right?” I asked as I turned towards the gaggle of kids swarming all over Eklil. They, more or less, finally managed to form up into a line to show their echoscripts. “Since I didn’t choose the magic skill line and all?”
“You can learn whatever you like. Life is limitless,” Eternity said, tone slightly sharper than its usual. “Your class is a scaffolding, but it is not a limit. While your selection was unfortunate, handled as it was under stressful conditions, you are not your class, Klaus.”
I perked right back up. “Wait… so I could… just learn this?” I waved the echoscript.
“Moment-binding is not a skill easily learned by intuition. It also has several requirements that you cannot access at this time.”
“Insight limitation?” I asked, my hopes rising.
“Yes. But with the help of someone skilled in the art, it is entirely possible to learn moment-binding.” There was a pause and I felt the dragon moving atop my head. Eternity’s tiny, smoke-wreathed head poked into my field of view, looking at me upside down. “Why do you want this?”
I caught the smallest flicker of curiosity in that question, and something else riding the words. I couldn’t exactly understand that feeling, but my interest got Eternity’s interest… and that was something to remember. For all it claimed I had no set purpose, I couldn’t help but feel like there was a weight of expectation on my shoulders.
“I like photography,” I answered earnestly. “It’s—Well, it was—”
It was too hot in the room all of a sudden. Too bright. I knew what was about to hit me just as I’d known I was screwed the moment I stared into the truck’s twin headlights.
Bile rose from the pit of my stomach to lodge itself into my throat, aided by the sight of all the kids crowding Eklil’s home. My knees wobbled and my stomach lurched, the whole room swaying, then spinning. I only took note of Ienella’s wide eyes as she looked at my face, her fingers pulling the echoscript back from me.
“It’s not something I want to talk about,” I said as I grabbed hold of the table to centre myself. Hard as I tried to keep my tone neutral, I realised I’d very literally growled.
I needed grounding. Something to touch—the table: solid beneath my fingers, not lacquered, the grain rough against my skin. Something to see—the colourful plant across the room, trimmed again overnight, leaves held in a clay bowl. And something to smell—the soft citrus of citron, still lingering in the air.
The episode passed within less than a minute as I centred myself and breathed in deep. Aside from the screaming kids, nobody said anything. Eklil just threw me a glance, then looked to Ienella as if tasking her with my care.
I kept breathing deeply and pulled my train of thought back onto its tracks. “I would like to learn this, yes. Read my mind if you want to know more.” My voice somehow managed to level out.
“I can not and do not want to do that,” Eternity said, head retreating back atop mine. “There is no moment-binder plying their trade in Carmill Hill. It is a rare and solitary craft away from the larger settlements. If you wish to learn it, Klaus, the world is wide.”
Which meant I had to go out and find one somewhere else. And while I was also planning on clearing another couple dungeons for insight, now I could add another goal to my list. Seeking purpose and all that.
I took another deep, steadying breath, held it for a time, then exhaled slowly.
“My son had liked photography,” I said, almost to myself.
It was something I’d been teaching him. Looking at photos I would take while on the road for work was something that he enjoyed and a big reason for me to continue doing it. I had a whole folder on my phone that I never looked at anymore.
Eternity said nothing, only shifted a bit. I felt a wave of concern off it, but I didn’t want to say more and the entity didn’t pry. I forced my thoughts away from my little crisis.
This place was alien and the sights were wondrous beyond anything I’d seen on Earth. I really wanted to be able and immortalise the sights. I hadn’t picked up an actual camera in six years.
My son wasn’t on Oresstria. I knew that for a fact because I’d accepted that I was still alive.
And this, as strange as it got, wasn’t the afterlife. It was just more life after life and I’d have to make my peace with that.
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