Y'Nfalle: From Beyond Ancient Gates

"Lady Witch, I have come to inform ye that yer man woke up," Theodus said, standing at the door of Sheela's room.

Sheela folded up the scroll she was reading and tossed it on the back before rushing past the dwarf. She moved quickly through the hallway, her pace just on the verge of a run, making Theodus struggle to keep up.

"How is he?" She asked, stopping in front of the door to Solon's room.

"Ask him yourself." The dwarven Grand Regent replied with a smile, politely opening the door for her and ushering her inside.

Sheela held her breath as the door closed behind her. Solon sat in his bed, looking down at his right hand, opening and closing it as if checking if it still worked. The tall woman slowly approached him and sat on the edge of the bed. Both of them were dressed in long, dress-like pyjamas.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like I've been sleeping for a lot longer than I should've." The warhound replied and looked up at her.
"How long was I out?"

"Three and a half days." Sheela pointed out the window at the setting sun.

"Fuck me. A micro coma." Solon smirked.

"Don't joke with things like that." She gently struck his leg, which was under the heavy blanket.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing much. The small town sent supplies and helping hands to aid the dwarves. They haven't done much yet. They've only arrived yesterday." Sheela explained.

Solon nodded and looked to his left at where his cybernetic arm used to be. From his expression, Sheela could tell he was still feeling as if it were there.

"They're still looking for it. Your arm, I mean." Said the witch.

"Did they do anything with the Spider? Try to disassemble it?" The warhound asked, seeming rather worried at the possibility of the dwarves trying to pick apart his people's war machine and understand it better.

She shook her head.
"No. Guards are keeping an eye on it. Theodus forbade anyone from even touching it, out of respect for you, I presume. Or out of fear after seeing what it's capable of."

"Good, good."

"Solon, I agree with him. That thing is monstrous. I mean, I've been inside it, I've held the trigger as it tore through hordes of trolls with ease. And you said it was heavily damaged." Sheela looked the man in the eyes as she spoke quietly.
"With just one or two of those, I could conquer cities."

"You could." He replied, sensing the burning question whose blow she was trying to soften before asking.
"You want to know why we didn't lay waste to everything in front of us with weapons like that?"

"Yes. The stories you told me, how you fought the elves, how you ended up in my temple. They don't make sense to me now." Sheela admitted.

"I will tell you about it later," Solon said, slowly getting out of bed with a groan.

His body felt stiff from lying down for so long, and he grabbed Sheela by the shoulder to steady himself.
"Right now, I am starving and could really go find something to eat."

Sheela helped him stand straight until the feeling in his legs returned. She wasn't too pleased with Solon dodging her question, but knew that there was no point in pressing the matter further. The two made their way down the stairs and through the halls until they reached the grand hall of the mountain.

"Solon, nice to see ye recovered!" The dwarves greeted him as the pair entered the grand hall.

Men and women from the small town at the foot of the mountain worked together with the dwarves. Torches were lit, giving the entire place an entirely different atmosphere. Solon smiled, letting the sight soak in.

"Gods! What happened to you?" A man, who Solon immediately recognised as the young foreman, dropped his tools and rushed over. Atoll stared at Solon, trying with all his might not to look down where the man's arm used to be.

"Give him some space, Atoll." Cedrek placed his hand on Atoll's chest and gently pushed him back.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I will get a new one once I reunite with my people." The warhound replied.

Everybody present just stared at him in disbelief. Atoll was still getting used to Solon after learning that the human in front of him was from an entirely different world. The dwarves did not spare the young foreman when it came to sharing information. Knowing Solon was more than just an average soldier explained a lot, but also created even more questions that Atoll was dying to ask. Sheela wasn't too surprised that Solon's inorganic parts were replaceable, but his nonchalant attitude still caught her off guard.

"How many times have you lost your arm?" She asked.

"More times than I'd like to admit." The warhound replied with a grin.
"Now, is there something to eat here? I'm starving."

***

The meal was no grand feast, on account of the supplies that the townsfolk had brought not being too abundant. Still, Solon enjoyed it, together with the dwarves and Sheel in Theodus's private chambers.

None of the dwarves seemed interested in asking Solon anything about the broken war machine, his arm or anything related to his people and world, beyond the most superficial questions. It drove Sheela up the wall, but the Witch understood that the dwarves wanted to avoid any topics that could get them too intrigued in the Spider.

Such leaps in technology were powerful and risked fuelling the fire of personal ambition beneath even the most restrained and sound-minded dwarves. Understanding how something works was the first step in replicating it, and Theodus did not want such abominable machines on his world for as long as he was alive.

A knock on the door interrupted their chatter, with Atoll on the other side letting them know the furnace was ready.

"Ready for what?" Sheela asked as they all stood up from the table and exited Theodus's chambers.

"To dispose of the trolls. Toss in all the rubble, some scrap metal and the troll corpses and then pour all that into the hole where they came from." Cedrek replied.

"That sounds absolutely batshit insane." Solon shook his head.

"As insane as ye replacing arms?" The dwarf retorted with a grin.

They walked to the heart of the mountain, as the repair teams still haven't made the transport trolleys available. Sheela, who was born and raised in a desert, could tell before they even reached the furnace that the heat they radiated would be almost unbearable up close. She couldn't imagine spending more than an hour in such conditions, yet dwarves spent almost their entire day in them with nothing but glee. She wiped the sweat forming on her forehead with the back of her palm.

So far, the dwarves have managed to get only one of the house-sized furnaces up and running. The crucible was equally as massive, making Solon wonder just how they managed to heat it up to the temperature necessary to melt metal or stone.

They stood at one of the balconies overlooking the furnaces, watching as the dwarves dragged the troll corpses with chains and pulleys before dropping them into the boiling mixture inside the crucible. Solon fanned himself with his hand, but that didn't cool him down at all.

"I have a request to make, if you'd hear me out, Theodus." The Warhound said, huffing between words.

"Certainly, Solon. If it's within my power, I will see it done." The dwarf replied.

"The Spider. I'd like a chance to check it for any ammo or weapons remaining that I could use before you toss it in the furnace." Solon said, turning his gaze towards the massive furnace.

Theodus nodded, exhaling audibly. The Grand Regent was glad that the human understood the risk that the machine presented and wanted it destroyed as much as the dwarf did.

The group was joined by Atoll, carrying something wrapped in cloth in his hands. He handed it to Solon with a smile and without a word. The man seemed winded, as if he ran quite a distance.

The Warhound recognised the object to be his left arm even before he opened the cloth. He picked it up and looked it over, finding it strange that he was looking at it while at the same time still feeling as if it was attached to him. He used that particular model for years, even for menial, daily tasks. His brain seemed to struggle to accept the reality that it wasn't there anymore.

"We just found it while moving the big troll to the furnace. I know you said you can't immediately reattach it, but I thought you could carry it with you until you reunite with your people." Atoll said, looking down at the metal arm with awe.

"Thank you, Atoll," Solon replied and walked over to the edge of the balcony, dropping the object into the furnace below.

Atoll watched in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. He walked over slowly, leaning over the edge and watching as the implant disappeared in the molten mixture. The young foreman wasn't sure what to make of the situation, especially since Solon's gratitude at having his arm back seemed genuine.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Forgive me if I offended you. I merely assumed you wanted it back as it was. I made sure no one tried to tamper with it." Said Atoll, while looking at the warhound.

"Don't sweat it. It's just protocol. All inoperable equipment should be, if possible, destroyed to reduce the risk of technological contamination. Since I can't use the arm anymore, this is the best possible alternative." Solon patted the man on the back and leaned against the parapet.

Atoll just nodded as the dwarves began to leave and took him with them, leaving Solon and Sheela alone. Solon reached into the pyjamas he still wore and fished out the crumpled cigarette box. He placed one in his mouth before sighing as he realised he had nothing to light it with, as he forgot the lighter in his room.

Sheela walked over and leaned beside him, extending her hand towards the soldier, palm open.
"May I see those?"

"Sure. Don't suppose you got a light?" Solon handed her the box of cigarettes while tucking the one he already pulled out behind his right ear.

"No, sorry." The witch replied, tossing the box nonchalantly over her shoulder into the furnace below.

"No! You infernal woman, why?!" Solon cried out, reaching towards the falling box even though it was too far gone. He slowly clenched his fist and looked up at Sheela as if she had just committed a murder.

"Why?" Sheela mused before grinning.
"My first devoted follower in centuries only recently came to the revelation that I am to be worshipped properly and began doing so by buying me clothes. So, I cannot allow said devotee to poison himself so he could try and get out of his duties quicker."

"Damn you. I should throw your ass over this railing for robbing me of what little joy I had." Solon groaned and slumped against the stone balcony railing, feeling the heat from the furnace wash over his back.

"What little joy you had? Devotion to me is all the joy you'll need." The witch smiled and turned to him with exaggerated flair in her movements.

Solon wasn't buying the act. He could see where her eyes fell and immediately covered his ear with his hand to protect the one remaining cigarette he had.
"Stay away from me, Sheela."

"Give it to me, Solon." Sheela stood in front of him, blocking his path and looking down at him.

"You can have it when you pry it from my cold, dead… hand." The warhound smiled, only for a moment, before poking the witch in-between the ribs without a warning.

Sheela bent to the side and shrieked, before covering her mouth with her hands and staring daggers at the soldier for making her let out such an embarrassing noise. Solon slipped past her, making his way from the overlook and into the hallway.

"Don't think you can outrun me, Solon!" The witch shouted, bolting after him.

The warhound was long gone; all she could hear was the distant sound of his bare feet slapping across the stone floor on the far end of the hallway.

***

The mountain was gorgeous, even at night. Unable to resist the view, Solon stood on the balcony of his room, smoking the one cigarette Sheela did not manage to snatch. Both he and Sheela were given rooms that were usually used by the royal family, situated near the mountain's summit. The warhound hadn't been this enthralled by anything since his arrival at the other world a year prior.

"Solon?" Sheela's muffled voice came from behind him, followed by knocking on the door to his room.

Solon quickly took one last drag of the half-smoked cigarette and flicked it for the mountain wind to carry far away. He suddenly stopped, realising what he had just done.
"What the fuck am I doing? I'm fifty-five, I can smoke if I want to."

Still stunned by the fact that the reflex he mastered in his high school days was still there, Solon walked over to the door and opened it. To his surprise, there was no one standing on the other side. The warhound peeked out, looking down both sides of the hallway before spotting Sheela speed walking back to her room.

"Sheela? What is it?" He called out to her.

The witch stopped dead in her tracks before turning on her heels and confidently strolling back towards him.
"Ah, you're awake. Good."

"Yes, I am. What do you want?"

"Sleep seems to elude me as well tonight. So, I thought I could stop by, perhaps talk more about things that interest me." She said, now standing in front of him as he blocked the doorway.

"Such as?" Solon raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you. Your people, your world. I wish to know more about my first follower and the world he is from." Sheela admitted, speaking as if her curiosity was something he should feel honoured for being the subject of.

"You're as persistent as the desert heat." He shook his head and moved from the doorway.
"Come on in."

Sheela entered the room and sat down on his bed. Her posture hid the excitement bubbling beneath the surface. Before she could begin asking questions, Solon cut her off with one of his own. There was a tone of subtle mocking in his voice.
"Tell me, mighty Sheela, how have I gone from being the primary recipient of your scorn to now being promoted to your first devotee?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes like the answer to that question should've been obvious. Sheela leaned back until she was propping herself up with her elbows and looked at him.
"First, you began bringing me gifts, such as that outfit you bought me. Second, and this one is far more important, you placed me inside that machine when the trolls attacked."

"Yes, and how does that translate to worship?" He leaned forward in his seat, curious to hear her answer.
"Not letting you get bludgeoned to death or worse doesn't mean I want to build temples in your name."

"Well, you knew the machine could withstand blows from the trolls and that anyone who was inside would be safe. You could have gone in yourself and hoped that I would flee or use my magic to avoid the trolls by turning into sand. Yet, you understood my importance and knew that I should not be placed in harm's way, even though I could handle myself. You even lost an arm because of it. A true show of devotion." She explained.

Solon stared at her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in disbelief at the mental gymnastics the witch was performing. He laughed for a moment, trying to figure out if this was prideful Sheela's way of expressing gratitude for what he had done or if she truly believed every word she said.

"Well, in any case, you're welcome." The soldier said after a brief pause.

"Now that I have explained something so obvious to you, let's move on to more interesting topics." She lay down on her side, looking at him as he sat on a chair at the foot of the bed.
"Tell me about where you come from. What do you call it? What's it like? Are humans truly the only race on your entire world?"

"Yes. It's just us. There are other species, but they are all animals. When it comes to intelligent species, it's just humans." Solon answered.

"How many of you are there?"

"Around ten and a half billion. Give or take."

Sheela frowned, and Solon understood that she didn't understand the number. It made sense, he thought, worlds such as this one had many races, but none of them were that numerous. He waved his hand around, writing the number in the air and watched her eyes widen in shock.

"That's… so many." She whispered.

"Yep. To paint a better picture, ten and a half billion seconds would be around three centuries."

"It must be a huge world then."

"It is and isn't. It's pretty cramped, if I'm being honest. We inhabit every part of it, from lush forests and fields to scorching deserts."

The witch didn't say anything; she just nodded at his answer.

"That's partially why our history is so filled with conflict. At one point, we just started expanding, stepping on each other's toes." Solon continued.

"So, a world of constant war?" She asked.

"No. There were a lot of them, but they're not constant." He exhaled and straightened his posture, picking words carefully so she wouldn't get the wrong idea.
"It sounds bad, but it isn't. Sure, we fought often, and we discovered everything the world had to offer, in terms of exploration at least. But we've also conquered climate, diseases, many disabilities, all through technological advancement."

"Like your arm and eye." She pointed out.

"Exactly!" Solon smiled, and she returned a smile.

They continued talking until the late hours of the night, Solon telling her about cars, computers, movies, and about anything he thought would interest someone from another world. Sheela listened and quickly got lost in imagining all the things he described. She hadn't even realised how heavy her eyelids had gotten until she could barely keep her eyes open. His voice, when not laced with sarcasm, was surprisingly soothing to listen to.

"Solon." She spoke slowly, quietly.
"If your world is such, why do you struggle fighting off mere elves?"

"I told you that before. We're not here to conquer."

"Even if that is true, you could have easily brought more of those machines to make sure no one would oppose you. Yet…" She yawned.
"You allowed yourself to get teleported across the world during an open battle with the elves. It makes little sense."

Solon exhaled through his nose and leaned forward in his chair.
"When we open the portals, we do so by force. To keep them stable takes insane amounts of power. They are calibrated for organics and mana, regardless of the size of the gate."

"Uh-huh." She mumbled, eyes already closed. His voice seemed more and more distant as she struggled to fight off the urge to fall asleep.

Solon hadn't noticed that Sheela was barely listening, as he continued his explanation.
"They rip open a tear in space or time or both, I don't really know. But trying to pass something as big as a Spider through a gate is like trying to chuck a boulder into a lake without causing a splash or ripple. Whoever made the portals designed them to transport people only."

"It took us two years of testing before we managed to stabilise the portals enough to send machinery through them. What's worse, the portals don't play well with explosives of any kind. Even a small ripple can destabilise explosives and cause them to blow. That's what happened here: how the gate got blown up and how the hole to the troll cave opened. We were supposed to bring an anti-air Spider and an artillery one through the portal. As the second machine was going through the portal, one of the generators fried, the power dipped, and the portal became unstable. The ripple set off the shells instantly."

Sheela let out a hum to let him know she was still listening.

"I blame the company for rushing the process. They wanted us to make progress, so we skipped out on various tests. When the shell went off, I was on our side. Half of the facility got blown up, and we lost all the calibrations. At that point, we still didn't know how to make the portal open to where we wanted it to, so we just popped up at random places each time. This mountain was the first time we managed to lock onto a single portal. When that one got blown up, we had written off the personnel on this side as KIA and relocated them to a different facility. We then retried the process and ended up in Vatur. And you know the rest."

"Yeah. Mmhhh, I see." The witch shuffled around his bed, finding a more comfortable position.

"I think you should go to bed, Sheela," Solon said, getting up from the chair.

"I already am in a bed." She retorted groggily.

"Yes, but that one is mine." He protested.

"This room is for the royal family. The bed is more than big enough for two people." The witch insisted, opening her golden eyes to look up at him.

Solon just sighed and sat down, carefully making sure not to sit on her hair, which sprawled across the bed.

"Keep talking. I like how it sounds." She closed her eyes again.

"My voice?" He asked.

Sheela did not answer. All she did was shift subtly in the bed to make a little bit more room for him. Solon did not try arguing with her further. He lay down, looking up at the ceiling above and talked. The warhound talked about his fascination with the new world, talked about his favourite books and movies, even as Sheela fell asleep. He did not stop until he felt himself sinking into slumber, too.