Herald of death

Ethan sips his glass, the flavors spilling across his tongue in a delightful combination. "Everything tastes so much better in this world," Ethan begins. "Each of the ingredients is distinctive and filled with flavor and substance. Nothing like the wines I'm accustomed to."

"A week ago, you were insulting an ale for not being up to your standards," Sylas says, trying the wine himself.

Ethan smiles. "The quality of the ingredients doesn't automatically make for a better final product," he says.

A look of realization crosses his face as he lowers his fork onto his plate. "This world?" Sylas slowly asks. He places his hand over his mouth, stopping himself from reacting aloud. Lowering his voice, he says, "That makes so much sense. … But I've never heard of humans crossing over."

Ethan takes the time to eat a bite of his appetizer. "It has only been three weeks since our worlds collided. But I've seen signs that others, like me, crossed over."

"Three weeks," Sylas says. "Then it must be pretty similar to ours for you to be this strong."

"Quite the contrary. Ether and monsters are a new thing for us, though, as I said, I was one of the strongest," Ethan replies. "I am surprised that you know about the other worlds; I feared that I would have to explain the notion to you."

Sylas chuckles softly. "My father used to frighten me with tales of the first orc invasions. Initially, they arrived in small groups, but soon portals opened, unleashing their armies upon our world. Back then, the continent was united under one banner, yet it took all of humanity's strength to resist them."

"I read from one of Elowen's books that the orcs appeared in the year 512." Ethan says. "What year are we in? And how long are your years?"

"Those weird questions are more understandable now," Sylas notes. "A year takes four seasons, each of which lasts ninety-one days. We are currently the 33rd of Autum 873."

'Three hundred and sixty-four days a year. This is too close to be a coincidence. Or is it a survival bias? I wouldn't be here if Earth were too close or too far from the sun,' Ethan thinks.

"What you told me about your father," Sylas begins. "Was it even true?"

"It is," Ethan answers. "I do not know how yet, but the man I seek killed my father in my world while belonging to yours."

The waiter approaches, their main course in hand. They stay silent as he exchanges their empty plates for the next ones. "Is everything to your liking?" he asks.

"Yes," Ethan says.

Sylas digs in. As the waiter leaves, he asks, "How is it? Your world."

Ethan takes a sip of his drink, considering how to explain Earth to someone coming from the Middle Ages. "My world, … is different," he begins. He looks at the horizon, glancing at the vast expanses of greenery. "We've pushed our world to its limits with our numbers. Without monsters to stop us, we conquered everything and built cities sheltering millions of people."

"How much is a million?" Sylas asks.

"A thousand times a thousand," Ethan answers, glad that they count in base ten. "Given its size, Opal must have around a hundred thousand inhabitants. Our cities are ten times as large, sprouting stacked homes taller than the palace."

Sylas's gaze turns to the side as he imagines it. He seems to struggle to grasp the idea.

"We have ways to instantly speak with each other across vast distances, as if we were sitting at the same table. We can cure most illnesses, and people usually live to see their eightieth birthday," Ethan continues.

"Beside noblesse, our life expectancy is around forty years," Sylas says, his eyes gleaming. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-six," Ethan answers. "We built carriages powered not by horses but by fire. On them, the journey we made from the sanctuary would have taken us an hour."

Sylas's imagination struggles even more, the confusion clear in his complexion. They pause, eating some of their meal. The lamb melts on Ethan's tongue, its naturally rich flavors enhanced by a mustard and garlic sauce.

"Do you remember the magical artifacts I spoke of two nights ago?" Ethan resumes. "Some of those, even though they are not magical, have the power to destroy our world at the whim of a few powerful and aging men."

Sylas swallows his food with an audible gulp. "So what? Is everyone scared that they could die at any moment?" he asks. Glancing to the side, he adds, "Perhaps it's not different from the dangers posed by some monsters."

"It has been a threat for nearly eight decades; a lot of people simply forget it, unless they are actively reminded of their existence," Ethan says. "What are those monsters?"

"We occasionally hear stories from the dark continent," Sylas says. "But here, it would be Cinderis, the Scorching Scourge. She is a dragon who decimated a country a few decades ago, only to be stopped by an anonymous adventurer."

"If she has been dealt with, she isn't a problem anymore, is she?" Ethan says. "I hope there is a chapter on her in the history book I bought."

"There are rumors of sightings," Sylas says. "Tales of a great beast that obscures the night sky, its wings covering entire villages."

"A dragon…," Ethan begins. "My world's stories contain many of the monsters I encountered in yours. Hell, even our animals are the same; this lamb tastes better, but with the same flavors I remember."

"What is hell? I have heard you use that word before, but I have no idea what it means." Sylas asks.

"For you, I guess it would be the abyss," Ethan explains. "It's the place where the sinners go when they die, according to one of the most influential religions we have."

Sylas drinks his remaining wine, exhaling a refreshed breath. "Why are you telling me all of this? I don’t even know your name," he asks.

"It's a dangerous name to know," Ethan says. "There are very few people I'm even remotely close to, but this isn't the reason. The next time we meet, I'll teach you what my world learned of your art. Thousands of years of knowledge and tools you will use to fulfill your promise."

Sylas stays quiet, unable to reply. The waiter comes to their table, taking away their empty plates as he hands them a dessert list.

"Nothing for me," Ethan says. He picks up Russ's empty plate, handing it to the waiter along with the menu.

Sylas takes his time, struggling to choose between the options. "Two strawberry crêpes, … and a lemon pie," he orders.

The waiter nods and leaves, taking their empty plates with him.

"When will that be?" Sylas asks.

"It depends on my obligations; I'll only know after going home. It could be a week as much as it could be a few years," Ethan answers. "You can leave this city if you need to. Just make sure I can find you when I come back."

"Of course," Sylas says. "I'll make sure that the forge's staff always knows where to find me."

'I know I should tell him about his father. But it would only hinder him, making him even more scared of the Realm of Ascension', Ethan thinks.

"Something on your mind?" Sylas asks.

"Nothing you should worry about," Ethan says, placing five gold coins on the table.

"I can't let you pay," Sylas says, searching his pockets.

Ethan smiles softly, standing up from his chair. "Don't worry about that. You can pay next time," he says. "I will let you eat your desserts in peace; I have a world of work to get back to."

Sylas's gaze remains on Ethan as he leaves the terrace.