Never underestimate a man who has no fear
Eastern Saying
Scraps of parchment lined Tez' Mu's desk as he sat in his office at the Onan Desar barracks, the faint flicker of a lantern casting his grim expression in sharp relief. Another failed draft joined the pile on the floor as he stared down at the final version.
To Lady General Niari' Ru,
I swear, by the blood of the Mu, by the spirits of my ancestors, by the steel in my hands and the fire in my soul, that Keiran' will be rescued by me, unharmed, and returned to you. Meet me in Darin.
Tez' Mu folded the parchment with care, sealing it in a blue envelope embossed with the Mu crest. He let out a slow breath, and set the letter aside, turning to the mage hunched over a secondary desk. The man's brow was slick with sweat as his trembling hand traced intricate matrix lines onto the parchment. The room was already covered in a sheen of brown aura, making it stifling hot.
"Who's outside?" Tez' Mu called.
An orderly stepped in immediately, bowing low. "My lord?"
"Deliver this letter to the Ru army in Gijir—use the fastest horse available," Tez' Mu commanded, holding out the envelope.
"Yes, my lord," the orderly replied, taking the envelope and retreating quickly.
Tez' Mu turned back to the mage, who appeared on the verge of collapse. His essence pulsed faintly in the air, interwoven with the delicate lattice of the teleportation matrix he was inscribing.
"What's wrong?" Tez' Mu's sharp tone broke his concentration.
The mage exhaled shakily, clutching the coordinates he had been provided. "This… this location, my lord… it's exceptionally far and vague. I'm afraid I can't do this alone—not for six people."
Tez' Mu's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. "Kal' Yu informed you this was a top-secret mission. I cannot afford to involve more people. Are you saying you can't complete it?"
The mage winced. "I can complete it—for you, alone. But for six people? I'd need two more Martial Lords to help stabilize the matrix, and even then, it would take hours—time we may not have."
Tez' Mu's heartbeat thundered in his ears. He clenched his fists, the weight of the ultimatum from Keiran's abductors pressing heavily on him.
"How long to finish one just for me?" he asked, his voice dropping to a steely calm.
"It's already done, my lord," the mage replied, holding out the scroll with both hands, "But…" He hesitated, licking his dry lips.
"But what?"
"These coordinates—they're incomplete," the mage admitted, lowering his voice. "They lead somewhere, but there's no certainty about where exactly. It's a rough point of convergence. Could be anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of the destination."
Tez' Mu's chest tightened, though his face betrayed no emotion. "And yet, you proceeded to draw it?"
"You gave an order," the mage said simply, his head bowed. "It will get you there, but… you'll be going blind."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint crackle of the lantern. Tez' Mu's grip on the edge of the table tightened. His thoughts churned, weighing the risks, but every second brought Keiran's execution closer.
"It will have to do," he said, his voice measured.
He reached for the scroll, lifting it from the table. His fingertips brushed the intricate lines etched into the parchment. The weight of it felt heavier than it should. He turned to the mage.
"Tell Kal' Yu I've gone."
The mage hesitated, but a curt nod from Tez' Mu sent him stumbling from the room. Tez' Mu was alone now, the scroll in his hands and the unknown looming before him.
He strapped his sword to his back, took one final breath, and gritted his teeth.
"I'll find you, Keiran'," he muttered under his breath.
With a single motion, he ripped the scroll apart.
A blinding flash of light engulfed him, and his ears filled with a deafening roar. The world twisted and spun, the matrix pulling him into its grip. He felt the air pressing in from all sides, disorienting and unyielding. He couldn't tell up from down, left from right. Then, with a jolt that knocked the wind from his chest, the world solidified around him.
Tez' Mu staggered forward, his boots crunching against dirt. The night was cold, the darkness around him thick and unyielding. He stood in the middle of a desolate clearing, surrounded by dense trees that swayed in the faint breeze. He looked up at the unfamiliar stars and clenched his fists.
Adjusting his cloak, the weight of his sword was a familiar comfort at his back. His boots crunched against uneven cobblestones as he began to survey his surroundings. The night air was thick with the stench of refuse and damp wood, mingling unpleasantly with the faint metallic tang of blood.
A distant shout broke the eerie quiet, followed by raucous laughter and the sharp clink of metal striking stone. Tez' Mu's hand instinctively reached behind him to rest on the hilt of his sword as he moved toward the noise.
A building loomed up, its windows glowing faintly with the light of cheap lanterns, casting flickering shadows onto the street below, where a group of rough-looking men loitered at the mouth of an alleyway, smoking long pipes, the smoke rising in curls to obscure their faces. Tez' Mu released his hold on his sword, not wanting to appear hostile. As he passed by them, they turned, their sharp eyes tracking his every step.
Tez' Mu kept his expression neutral, refusing to betray his unease. He was suddenly glad for the hood shielding his face. He continued down the path, the faint rustle of his cloak and the distant murmur of voices the only sounds. His mind raced, piecing together the clues around him.
This city… It was familiar, though not in any way that brought him comfort.
He turned a corner and was met with a sight that confirmed his suspicions. A decrepit wooden sign swung on rusty hinges above a boarded-up storefront, its faded lettering barely legible in the faint moonlight: Mirin Tradehouse.
Tez' Mu's jaw tightened as he surveyed the scene before him. It was barely over a month since he was here, and even then the city had been on the verge of breaking from the inside out. Now, it seemed that collapse had finally come. The streets were littered with debris, and the air buzzed with the underlying tension of a place where survival was won through cunning and cruelty.
A pair of children darted out from a side alley, their faces gaunt and pale in the light of the lantern they carried. One of them snatched a loaf of bread from a vendor's cart as the old man turned his back and vanished into the shadows before he could so much as shout. The old man cursed loudly, hurling a broken crate after them before retreating into the relative safety of his stall.
Tez' Mu exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold air. He was in Mirin, and the scroll's coordinates had done their job, albeit imperfectly. The city was vast, and finding Keiran' Ru's location would be like searching for a needle in a haystack—except the haystack was crawling with thieves and cutthroats.
He suddenly paused in his tracks.
The men from earlier had been following him.
"Oi, lordling," one of the men snickered. "Lost your way, have you?"
Tez' Mu drew in a breath, the cold air whipping against his face. "No, I know exactly where I am," he turned slowly, and registered their numbers. Five. Based on the aura emanating from them, he also gauged their strength as Martial Grandmasters.
Grandmasters playing rogues? Tez' Mu had expected street scum—thieves with rusted daggers and slurred threats. Not this. These men had trained in martial halls, once bound by honor. Now, they prowled alleys for bounties like common thugs. Had Ochelon fallen that far?
The moon emerged from behind a cloud suddenly, casting warm silver light on the scene. A strong wind blew, then, and lifted the hood of Tez' Mu's cloak off his head. The moonlight reflected on his hair, and the damesh gasped.
"Hoho," the leader chuckled, his hand reaching for his blade in a slow, almost instinctive manner, "look what the wind blew in."
Tez' Mu's heart raced. By reason of his red hair alone, they had recognized him?
"Men," the leader of the damesh addressed his underlings, "we'll have quite the gold after taking this duon. Ready yourselves!"
"Why would you get gold for taking me?" Tez' Mu stalled for time, wildly absorbing aura as he spoke. His veins burned as they swelled with stolen essence, his muscles tightening with the strain of forced intake. It wasn't enough. Five Grandmasters against one Martial Skill—he was outmatched, and he knew it.
"Aren't you aware?" The leader took two steps forward, smiling to reveal darkened teeth, "You're a wanted man. Do you think Lord Kest would let the hiarmak's death go in vain?"
Right. He had helped Kan' Ya kill Nerak.
"Oh," Tez' Mu felt his veins throbbing with the aura he had absorbed, contemplating his next move. The leader of the damesh was watching him intently, no doubt trying to figure out his weakness. Tez' Mu stood tall, and slowly pulled Moonfire from its sheath at his back. He started to pour absorbed aura into it almost as soon as his hand touched the hilt. The blade glowed a dangerous red, shimmering and sizzling like it was thrust into a furnace.
"I'll warn you just once," Tez' Mu said, "Stand back."
The leader of the damesh smirked as he took a glance at the sizzling sword.
"Just a Martial Master," he scoffed, and then struck, moving so fast he appeared in front of Tez' Mu before he could take another breath. Clang! Tez' Mu blocked the blow and threw off his assailant, whose eyes widened in shock. As Tez' Mu advanced to bring down his counterattack, the leader of the damesh shouted out just as he blocked the swing, energy billowing out on either side.
"What are you doing you dumbheads?!" He screamed to his lackeys, "join the fight! We must take him alive!"
"Yes boss!" The other four started to run forward immediately, unsheathing their weapons. Some summoned aura blades. Tez' Mu gritted his teeth as with another wave of absorbed essence he struck at the exposed left side of the damesh boss, drawing blood and a yelp. As the boss staggered back, Tez' Mu swung Moonfire around himself in an arc, with the sword drawing a cylindrical aura shield. It was not a second too late, for just then the first attack of the other four landed, the darts ricocheting off the shield like raindrops.
Tez' Mu's sword flashed as the damesh boss came close again, and sliced through his tunic. He parried a blow coming from the left, and hit the advancing damesi on the right hard in the chest with the hilt of his sword. He leapt out of the enclosure, and his sword pierced the chest of the dart throwing damesi, Tez' Mu withdrawing it almost immediately. Grabbing the damesi, he threw his body in front of himself to block an aura spear from the enraged boss.
The spear went through the damesi and he crumpled to the ground, even as the spear vanished. The damesh roared in anger and started to pursue Tez' Mu, who fled, darting through the alleyways now so familiar to him.
Damn! Was his luck so bad he just had to run into people who wanted to kill him? With each passing second the danger Keiran' was in only increased!
Gritting his teeth, Tez' Mu flicked his hand to retrieve an exploding pellet from his spatial ring. He turned around mid-run, and had raised his hand to throw it when a sharp whistle cut through the night, followed by the sound of hooves hitting against the cobblestones. Startled, Tez' Mu halted and turned in the direction of the charging cavalry.
Emerging from the shadows, a group of figures on horseback rode into the clearing. Their uniforms were unmistakable, the dark gray and blue of the Onan Desar.
Relief washed over him, his grip on his sword loosening slightly. They had come for him. Tez' Mu straightened, blood dripping from the blade in his hand. "Took you long enough," he called out, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.
But as they approached Tez' Mu suddenly froze as he recognized the leader riding at the forefront. His jaw dropped in shock. Why was Han' Ji in Onan Desar uniform? What was happening?
The damesh, wary of the imperial uniforms, stopped short a few paces away, but didn't lower their weapons. Their leader held a hand to his already bloodied midriff.
"Tez' Mu," Han' Ji drawled, smirking at Tez' Mu's obvious discomfort. He reached into his cloak and withdrew a scroll, tossing it down, "This is for you."
Tez' Mu's brow furrowed in confusion, "What is this?" he asked sharply, not bending to pick it.
Han' Ji met his gaze evenly. "Orders from the Dowager. You are to be taken to Offal' Kest under their custody." He pointed at the damesh. "The scroll contains the treaty the Dowager intends to wager with the west, so treat it with respect."
Tez' Mu was so angry he didn't even care to react to the last statement. He clenched his fists as he yelled, "Are you mad? These cutthroats take me to Darin?!"
Han' Ji's expression didn't waver. "It's not my place to question orders, as you however are so fond of doing. The Dowager has her reasons. I suggest you cooperate." He glanced at the damesh and gave a curt nod. "Take him."
The damesh moved forward, but Tez' Mu's grip tightened on his sword. Moonfire blazed red hot, tendrils of aura sizzling around it. The damesh hesitated, glancing up at the imperial soldiers.
Han' Ji didn't flinch. "Tez' Mu, resisting will only make this worse. The Dowager's orders are clear." Raising his hand, he drew a sigil that levitated the scroll and tossed it at Tez' Mu, who caught it instinctively.
Han' Ji grinned, while Tez' Mu's mind raced. His relief had turned to betrayal in an instant. The troupe he thought had come to save him was handing him over to his enemies. His gaze darted to the damesh, who were watching him like vultures circling a wounded animal.
For a moment, he considered fighting. He could take on the damesh, if it came to that. But what about Han' Ji and his men? What about the scroll in his hand, which felt heavy, its presence a reminder of the Dowager's will. If he disobeyed, the consequences would ripple far beyond himself.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Tez' Mu dropped his sword. His jaw clenched, his expression one of barely-contained rage. "I won't forget this," he said quietly, his voice dripping with venom.
Han' Ji nodded once, unbothered. "I'm sure you won't."
The damesh closed in, binding Tez' Mu's hands and picking up the weapon. As they led him away, the light of the moon caught the faint smirk on their faces.
Tez' Mu didn't look back. His thoughts churned with anger and betrayal, but beneath it all, a single, unshakable resolve burned. It wasn't the Dowager who ordered this; it was Hu' Ran. And, by the spirit of the ancestors, he would make sure the imperial steward lived to regret this.
***
Tez' Mu's heart thundered in his chest as he was dragged toward Darin in a crude cart, flies pecking at his open sores, arms and feet bound in aura containing shackles, leaving him utterly at the damesh's mercy. Each stumble of the wheels was a jagged reminder of the failure gnawing at him. He had been so close, just a breath away from rescuing Keiran' Ru, from seeing her safe again. But now—now he was nothing more than a prisoner, beaten and bloodied, with the bitter taste of defeat stinging his mouth.
The blows from the damesh came in cruel succession, relentless and unfeeling, their fists reaching through the wooden bars to slam at him occasionally, but his thoughts never wavered. He could only focus on one thing: Keiran' Ru. He should've been there. He should've—
The laughter of the damesh broke through his thoughts now and again. They chattered among themselves, their voices laced with gleeful anticipation. Their faces was flushed with excitement, imagining the gold that would soon be theirs for delivering the son of House Mu to whoever was willing to pay. Tez' Mu barely registered their words, each one like salt in an open wound.
The pain began to blur, his senses dimming as his body screamed for respite—until the jarring motion stopped. They had arrived. The banners flying from the gate of the camp was unmistakable. The cart lurched to a halt under the amber glow of late afternoon, and the wooden door was thrown open.
The leader of the damesh; Yuk the others called him; reached in and grabbed Tez' Mu by the arm, dragging him out and shoving him into the dirt. It was personal vendetta for his dead comrade and the injury inflicted on him, but Tez' Mu could care less now. Not when his stomach ached with hunger, his head light from exhaustion. The earth felt cold and hard beneath him, every muscle protesting as he tried to push himself up. His eyelids felt like lead—had it been a day without sleep? Two?
His vision swam, but his ears caught the sound of the retreating footsteps of the damesh. They were stepping back, rubbing their hands together in excitement, their eyes dancing with the thought of their payday.
Then a voice tore through the air, as heavy as thunder and just as merciless.
"Who did this to him?!"
The fury in the voice was unmistakable. Tez' Mu's head went blank, his body stiffening despite the pain. The man's voice was a war cry, a command that carried weight and violence in every syllable. He appeared like a tempest incarnate, his tall frame cutting through the camp with the force of a storm. His boots dug into the earth with each step, and his eyes—dark, seething with rage—never left Tez' Mu's bruised form.
Tez' Mu's breath hitched, his body trembling beneath the pressure of the man's glare. The damesh, who had once been so sure of their victory now scuttled back, their faces draining of color as they exchanged panicked glances.
The general stood over them, towering like an avalanche ready to crash down on their heads. His voice, low and dangerous, rumbled. "You dare lay your hands on him!"
The damesh had nothing to say. Yuk opened his mouth, but all that came out was a low choke.
Tez' Mu lay on the cold ground, his body bruised and battered, but the anger burning in his chest gave him an unexpected clarity. He lifted his head. The sight of the general, so sure of himself, so quick to rage at the damesh, only fueled the fire inside him. With a rasping breath, he forced the words out.
"Why are you asking that, Offal' Kest?" His voice came out dry and hoarse. Though surprised at his audacity, Tez' Mu was not undaunted, by calling Offal' Kest his name to his face. The fury coursing through him had to be released. Memories of the damesh's torture rose unbidden to his mind. The thought of Keiran' suffering, because of the schemes of this man before him…it set him off completely, and soon Tez' Mu was venting without regard for his image, or for the general's.
"Do you really care that I've been injured? How much do you care about the sons and daughters of others that you've slaughtered because of your rebellion? The countless innocent lives spilled because of your pride and your lust for power?"
He didn't care about the repercussions, or the fury of the man standing over him. Offal' Kest was nothing more than a tyrant to him—a man who had long forgotten what it meant to protect, to honor those who followed him. Tez' Mu's eyes locked onto the general's, defiance in word he dropped.
"You think you're above all reproach, don't you? You think the blood of your rebellion doesn't stain your hands?" He paused, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "Tell me, Offal' Kest, can you count how many children you have orphaned in your quest for control?"
Every time he said Offal' Kest's name, it struck with the force of an insult, each syllable a challenge. The general's face twisted in a violent snarl. His voice boomed, sharp as a crack of thunder, cutting through Tez' Mu's words.
"Be quiet!" Offal' Kest shouted, his eyes flashing like a storm about to break. "Who do you think you are?! Have you forgotten who you are?!"
Tez' Mu froze at the sudden shift in the tone, his expression flickering for the briefest moment. But Offal' Kest wasn't done.
"Whatever you have become does not erase your bloodline! I demand respect and honor from you!"
But Tez' Mu didn't know what to say. His mind went blank. Offal' Kest's declaration struck with the force of a thunderclap. My bloodline? Tez' Mu stared at him, gaping in disbelief. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
"You are a Mu, yes!" Offal' Kest continued, his voice harder than Tez' Mu's had been, "But you are equally a Kest! You owe me as much loyalty as Huiran' does! So lay all that aside!" he moved forward, and lowered his voice as he crouched by Tez' Mu, reaching out to grip his chin and tilt it up so he could stare into his eyes. "I accept all you have called me: tyrant, rebel, traitor; all of it. But I do not accept my name! You are my grandson, and you will refer to me appropriately!" he pushed Tez' Mu away as he released his chin, and rose.
The damesh shrank back as his gaze landed on them. Offal' Kest sneered, and raised his voice again.
"You were not thinking when you treated my grandson with contempt, so I shall not think either when I order your deaths. Men!"
Kest soldiers descended on the damesh immediately, swallowing up the four thugs with their numbers. Tez' Mu's heart chilled as he heard, faintly, as if from a distance, their yells and last cries. He raised his head and glanced up at the sinking sun, at the skies behind which the ancestors presumably had their home.
Why did you make Offal' Kest my grandfather?
With a swift motion of the general's hand, the aura containing shackles binding Tez' Mu's wrists fell off with clatter to the ground, and Tez' Mu rubbed his sore wrists, the sharp sting of release flooding through his limbs.
"Get up," Offal' Kest ordered, his tone softening just enough to be less a demand and more an invitation. "Come into my tent."
Tez' Mu staggered to his feet, still feeling dizzy with hunger, but something in Offal' Kest's demeanor had shifted, which made him instinctively compliant. Reluctantly, Tez' Mu followed him into the tent. The heavy canvas flapped shut behind him with a muffled thud, enclosing them in a space filled with the smell of leather and smoke, the low crackle of a fire casting flickering shadows across the walls.
Offal' Kest motioned to a rough-hewn table, where a map of Darin and surrounding areas was spread out. "Sit," he commanded.
Tez' Mu obeyed, his eyes never leaving the general's face. He could feel the tension still lingering, but he knew Offal' Kest wasn't about to make this a drawn-out interrogation. The general's gaze hardened as he sat opposite Tez' Mu, folding his arms across his chest.
"I won't lie to you, Tez'; I am in dire straits," Offal' Kest growled, leaning forward. "The Rus have withdrawn their support, the Ran are encroaching, and the Imperial Army has Darin surrounded. Tell me: what is happening in the capital? What can we expect from the Dowager?"
Tez' Mu watched him closely, his thoughts momentarily flicking to the treaty he carried, a bitter thing he had almost forgotten to deliver in the chaos. With a silent curse, he reached into his coat and produced the scroll. He unrolled it slowly, the edges stiff, and placed it on the table between them.
"The Dowager thinks you're finished," Tez' Mu said, his voice cold, tired. "She's taken the opportunity to write her terms for peace." He pushed the treaty toward Offal' Kest, who took it without a word, his eyes scanning the contents. A deep frown settled on his brow as he read the terms.
Tez' Mu knew without reading that they were sure to be a veiled gloat, words of triumph woven into a promise of a humiliating surrender. The Dowager thought the Kests had no hope now that the Rus had withdrawn. She thought victory was within her grasp with the siege of Darin well underway.
"So, she believes we've lost?" Offal' Kest muttered, his voice almost a growl as he glanced up. "Her confidence is misplaced."
Tez' Mu said nothing. He knew that if Offal' Kest intended to continue the fight, it would take every ounce of his cunning to stand against the Imperial Army and the Dowager's forces.
Finally, Offal' Kest set the treaty aside, his eyes hardening with a new resolve. "You're not here just to deliver a peace treaty, are you Tez?" he asked with a small patronizing smile.
Tez' Mu's jaw tightened. "Where is she?" he growled, the urgency in his veins rising once more. He had come here for one reason only—to rescue her.
Offal' Kest watched him, his expression unreadable for a moment. "I don't know," he responded simply.
"What?" Tez' Mu felt the world around him spin, "You sent the ransom letter; I know it! No one else would ask for the Rus to return support to Darin but you!"
Offal' Kest grinned, his smile infuriating Tez' Mu, who clenched the table in anger as he rose, shakily.
"Stop the games and tell me where she is!" he roared. He could hear guards shuffling nervously outside, but he could care less. Besides, what could he do to a Martial Sage?
Offal' Kest's expression remained calm. "Tez' Mu," he spoke slowly, "I don't know where Keiran' Ru is. She's not being held on my orders."
"Then the letter—!" Tez' Mu shouted, but Offal' Kest raised a hand. He was smiling again.
"It was forged."
Tez' Mu collapsed back onto the chair, his chest heaving. If Offal' Kest didn't have Keiran'—then?
"So you lied," Tez' Mu spoke, his voice low.
Offal' Kest shrugged.
"Yes I did, and I daresay I'm proud of it." He rose, and walked over to a nearby chest. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed in the still air as he opened it, "It was the Dowager, or someone near her, that ordered her abduction."
"I know! That was my first instinct; but then your letter came!"
Offal' Kest rummaged through the contents of the chest before retrieving a small, blank scroll.
He tossed it onto the table in front of Tez' Mu, the smooth surface catching the flickering firelight. "You'll need this," Offal' Kest said, his voice cold but with an edge of something else—perhaps a begrudging respect. "I've made arrangements for you. Go. Find her."
"Why?" Tez' Mu growled, his frown deepening, "Why must you tell me what to do?"
"Because she's in danger," Offal' Kest responded, his face serious, his voice low. "Niari' Ru received the real ransom letter. If she doesn't move to Guho before midnight, Keiran' will be killed."
Tez' Mu felt the whole world still around him. There was a ringing in his ears. His eyes swam.
"Pull yourself together," Offal' Kest spoke urgently, "Keiran's fate depends on you now."
Heart pounding, Tez' Mu nodded, starring down at the scroll. "But what's this?" he asked, turning it over in confusion.
"A blank teleportation scroll. There is a drop of Ru blood; from Niari'; imbued in it. Blood calls to blood—but without a coordinate it's as useless as I've been."
Tez' Mu's mouth was dry as he spoke.
"I don't have the coordinates, though; I already used the vague one left of the scroll her captor used. But I know she's in Mirin."
"That's a good start," Offal' Kest nodded, "Time is not on our side. I'll have someone bring you food, and when you've recouped your energy, you have to set out at once."
Tez' Mu closed his eyes. "How many hours until midnight?" he asked slowly.
"Seven hours," Offal' Kest replied, after crossing the room to take a peek at the setting sun outside.
"That will do," Tez' Mu nodded.
"My lord," a Kest soldier approached Offal' Kest then, holding a sword, "We found this among the damesh's belongings, but we don't think it belongs to them."
"That's Moonfire," Tez' Mu turned around, sighting his sword.
"Give it to him," Offal' Kest nodded to the soldier, who passed by him to enter the tent. As he took the sword, Tez' Mu felt a rush of adrenaline. Though sloppy at their work, he believed the Mu ancestors would watch over him, and he would make it to Keiran' in time.
***
Tez' Mu held a location firmly in his mind, feeling the threads of essence wrap around him like a cocoon. He reached for the blank scroll, channeling the essence from his thoughts, feeding it into the blank surface. Then he ripped the scroll apart.
The world shifted in a sudden, blinding flash. The air around him seemed to hum, the very fabric of reality contorting as he was pulled through the void. With a sudden lurch, Tez' Mu landed hard on the ground. He staggered, catching his breath, his senses spinning.
Mirin.
He was back.