Alan squinted into the murk. The Black Sea whispered around his knees, its ink-like waters dragging with every sluggish step. He frowned, lips parted slightly as if trying to taste a meaning on the air.
What Roamer? What is he saying?
The waves lapped without sound, swallowing the voice's syllables. But the meaning drifted into his mind, hushed and uncertain.
"That presence definitely said something… but I didn't hear it. I understood it."
Alan pressed forward, water rippling out from his shins. He had no idea if he was circling, sinking, or walking toward anything at all. The blackness around him shifted like oil, directionless.
A soft murmur brushed his mind again, closer this time.
A Roamer.
It arrived as sound and sense simultaneously, the word crawling under his skin before it even hit his ears.
He furrowed his brows, gaze fixed on the formless sea ahead.
The Captain mentioned something about Shapes… said his was "The Recorder."
Then came the mumble again, everywhere at once, as though the sea itself breathed it.
A Roamer.
Alan's shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening slightly.
Why does it keep saying Roamer? Is it because I'm wandering? Or… is that my Shape?
Suddenly, silence surged. Not calm, but the absence of all things. Even the waves had no voice. They bucked and rolled angrily now, slamming around him, but they did so in mute fury.
Then, lightless thunder. It split the sea with a roar Alan couldn't hear, only feel in his bones. Something writhed beneath. Thick, slick limbs slithered underfoot, tentacles, huge ones, brushing past with the wet weight of muscle and malice.
Alan froze, breath catching, body tense.
What was that? An octopus? A kraken? Sounds like a good book title… But, why is it ignoring me?
The silence was wrong. So wrong. The colors that should have shimmered with the thunder were missing. The beast that should have attacked stayed hidden. Even the fear that should've risen like bile… sat still inside him.
And the voice, the one that whispered Roamer, had vanished with the rest.
Alan slowly turned in the water, arms half-raised in instinct.
Wait… That voice, did it call me a Roamer because I'm walking, and none of this sees me? Is that… my power?
Just then, colors tore through the dark. They weren't lights but shapes of meaning, syllables floating in the air, sharp in hue and angle, twisting like jellyfish made of language. They scattered and re-formed, until a phrase shimmered in front of him:
"The less they see you, the further you move. The less it matters, the freer you are."
A sensation rattled in his skull. Thoughts aligned and unspooled, not from memory, but from somewhere older. Older than him.
Mathematical Familiar, but also Alien Feel.
Symbols flickered through his mind, shaped like logic, like madness, like prophecy. Words in Tharnish language.
(Self – Attention) × (Motion ÷ Meaning) = Disjoin
He blinked, hands half-curled, body still.
Roamer... That's what I am. Not because I wander. Because I'm been ignored by everything.
Alan's voice broke the silence, half-whispered, half-wondering.
"This is my power? Being ignored... by everything?"
He turned in place, boots scraping faintly on the slick surface beneath him. The black water around his legs rippled, shifting. Glass. It was turning into glass, clear, reflective, fragile. The darkness bled into color like spilled ink finding borders.
Behind him, something brighter glowed. He glanced over his shoulder.
Light.
It wasn't just light, it was his consciousness, Familiar, Warm, and life.
He turned forward again. The path ahead shuddered. The once-calm sea vibrated, and cracks raced across the water-glass like spiderwebs. It was crumbling, everything was breaking down except for the light behind him.
Alan stiffened, his shoulders raised as if bracing for impact.
What's happening? An earthquake? Why is it shaking? Why is everything collapsing, except the light?
He pivoted and lunged toward the light. His arms outstretched. He ran.
But his legs stayed where they were.
He reached. The light stayed distant.
He stretched his fingers. They never touched.
Please... please reach it. I don't want to die. Not yet. I haven't even written any letters to my sisters…
Then the floor shattered beneath him.
He fell.
The world vanished into absolute black. It wasn't just dark, it was absence. It devoured the shape of him, the thought of him. He closed his eyes tightly, arms curled around himself.
But then-
A flicker. Dim, golden light.
Alan's eyelids peeled open, slow and uncertain.
Above him hung chandeliers, ornate, flickering. Smoke from candles curled in the air, and perfume clung faintly to the velvet warmth of the room.
He gasped sharply and sat upright. His body felt stiff, drained. He blinked the haze from his eyes.
A wooden desk sat beside him, typewriter clacking steadily under Lucille's pale fingers. She didn't look up. In the center of the room, slumped over a closed book, was Captain Mercellus, soft snores.
Alan shifted, joints popping slightly. He turned to Lucille and rasped,
"Is it done?"
Lucille's gaze stayed locked on the report, her voice flat as parchment.
"Up to you. You're the one who experienced it. Why would I know?"
Alan's eyes dropped to the floor, his fingers twitching against his leg.
That's it? After all that… I thought I was going to die. It felt like dying.
He pressed a hand against his chest. His heart thudded hard, too hard.
I need to calm down... or I will have a heart attack.
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled in shudders. Again. Slower this time. He dropped to the floor, cross-legged, and closed his eyes for a breath. His hand reached out to the side, found his top hat, and after a pause, placed it gently on his head.
The pounding faded. His breath steadied.
He exhaled through his nose.
"Sigh... Looks like I'm done. And that ritual, was traumatic."
He scanned the room, its stillness, the dim light, the scent of paper and smoke. Then his eyes lowered again.
No wonder everyone looks grim… They go through this just to awaken their powers.
Alan reached for his coat, slipped it on with practiced fingers, and buttoned it slowly. He stretched, bones creaking quietly, then looked toward Lucille.
"I'm done. Is that all I need to do?"
A voice, hoarse and familiar, cracked into the air.
"You'll be doing your first mission tomorrow."
Alan turned. Mercellus was awake, rubbing his eyes with one hand and yawning the next second.
"Go home. Come back tomorrow. You'll be joining Elias."
He stood and shuffled through papers, scowling at the stack before him.
"Plenty of work to do. But this was a good start to your journey as a Dream Wanderer. You'll gain experience. For now, rest and Prepare."
Alan blinked.
Wait. My first mission? Already? With that bastard Elias?
Before he could speak, something flew toward him, a dull thud in the air.
He caught it, a small leather pouch. It jingled. He opened it slightly.
Silver shillings.
Alan looked at Mercellus, puzzled.
"Captain… what's this for?"
Mercellus grinned, eyes glinting.
"Hundred silver shillings. Enough for a weapon. And decent clothes."
He eyed Alan's worn coat and trousers with mock horror.
"Actually… that might be an upgrade already. At least you could pretend those rags were meant for battle."
Alan raised an eyebrow.
That's kinda harsh.
Mercellus chuckled. "I'm joking. Mostly. But really, go buy something. A Gun, a coat, whatever you need. Or save it for next week's wage. Your choice."
Alan gave a short nod, his voice calm, understanding.
"Alright, Captain. Then I'll be going."
He turned, footsteps steady but a bit slow, as if the weight of what just happened hadn't fully left him. His hand reached for the golden knob, fingers hesitating for a split second before twisting it.
Click.
The door opened with a soft creak. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the chandeliers with burned scent still lingering in the air. He glanced both ways, left and right, until his eyes settled on a familiar figure leaning against the wall.
Elias Ashford stood there, arms crossed, one foot resting casually against the stone wall. His gaze was cast downward, shadow covering half his face.
He spoke without looking up.
"Looks like you've awakened your Shape."
Alan gave a slow nod, his tone measured.
"The Captain said you're going with me on my first mission."
Elias finally looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
"Guess he thinks it's fitting. Since I recruited you, he probably wants to see how we work together. Your experience... my evaluation."
Alan cracked a faint smile.
"Still sharp as ever. But where's that playful mask of yours gone?"
Elias sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Because I had to wash Murphy's clothes by hand. I may or may not have written something... less-than-kind about him in the letters."
Alan chuckled under his breath, unable to hide the smirk forming on his lips.
Serves you right. But wait... Murphy's door… isn't it at my house now?
The realization hit, and Alan's smirk twisted into a groan.
"I'm going back home... didn't Murphy Goslan move the entrance to his door into my house?"
Elias nodded, his voice dry.
"Yeah. Which only made things worse for me. He tore into me instead of you. Lucky you."
Alan tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh, covering his mouth with a hand.
Hahaha... Murphy, you glorious bastard. I'll buy you cookies when I can afford them.
He turned to Elias with a weary but amused expression.
"I'm heading out then. See you tomorrow. And for the love of the Dream, wake me up when it's time. My sleep schedule is hell."
Elias offered a lazy salute.
"Noted. Sleep well, Newcomer."
Alan gave a half-wave as he began walking away, his coat brushing the floor, his footsteps echoing softly behind him.