Chapter 1

I'm Going To Be Late For That Date

"Think…"

"…Bluh?"

"Feel…"

"Excuse me?"

"Hear…"

"… I am?"

The Leaky Cauldron, 7th of July, 1999

The clacking of teeth smashing against each other could be mistaken for the wing beat of the world's loudest hummingbird with how fast it echoed around the mostly-empty room.

Its lone occupant rose from the bed in the corner – one of the only three pieces of furniture filling the unnecessarily-large room – in a tangle of bed sheets and dislike for mornings.

He was all messy black hair, green eyes and disgruntled morning face. The young man reached one hand to the nightstand, wildly groping for his favorite object in the world.

"Bloody bollocks on a-"

And failing.

Harry Potter jumped out of bed holding his bitten fingers, all the while glaring at the chattery teeth the Leaky Cauldron's landlord had delivered at his request for an alarm clock a few weeks ago.

"And he has barrels filled with these things."

He checked his abused finger tips to the light of the morning sun – every room in every part of the Leaky Cauldron had a window facing to the same side, so that the morning sun would always greet the people who stayed at the Inn.

"No broken nails this time."

He reached for his wand – sitting dangerously close to the murderous denture – and used it to blast said biter into the wall. Teeth embedded themselves with no recognizable pattern into the wood, leaving behind new holes to be patched up sometime in the next couple of centuries. Harry counted about three thousand tooth-shaped indents during a bored afternoon.

"At least turning them off is always satisfying."

He didn't stay to watch the teeth pull themselves out of the wall and back into the too-realistic gums that made up the alarm clock – that got boring after the first nine times – and moved to his dresser to pull out one of only two outfits he'd been wearing since he moved into the Cauldron.

"I should mix them together someday."

He went for the gray open hoodie, white shirt and black pants. The other outfit sitting in the dresser was just a black robe matched with a pointed hat with a brim wide enough to double as an umbrella. He only wore the latter to more-or-less formal settings, or whenever he was forced to. He'd never really taken to wearing robes outside of his old Hogwarts uniform after graduating from said school.

He turned to the rest of the room. The teeth were already resting, content as they like, on the nightstand. He looked around, eyes inquisitive and searching.

"… My shoes are hiding again."

His sneakers had been doing this on-and-off ever since he walked into a pool made almost entirely of a few other wizards. The rest of the pool was hippogriff piss, something that said wizards, once put back together, were quite disgruntled about.

He looked under his bed – no, no luck this time. The reason his room was bare was precisely so his shoes had less places to hide in. He stopped during his third turn in front of the window.

"Amateur mistake. Left the window open."

He poked his head out the window. It was a very gray morning, par for the course in London, but still a bit brighter than usual. He ignored the sound of the morning train – the same train every morning, at this time, going who knows where – a noise he had grown so used to that it no longer woke him up. Hence the biting-clock.

Looking down, he could see the people milling about in the Diagon Alley, wearing colorful robes for the most part, and as part of the most recent trend, feathers of one or another magical creature on their should, backs and hats. All too scratchy for his taste.

"None of them are wearing my shoes."

He blinked the foggy morning-thought away and turned around, resting his back against the window sill and looking up. There, under another window, was a floating bush of what appeared to be sunflowers. It was worth noticing, not because of the fact that sunflowers don't grow in bushes like that, or because bushes have a tendency to not float, but because he could swear that it was a rose bush the day before.

"There you are."

Dangling from a particularly sunset-looking flower, hanging by their shoelaces, were his sneakers. Harry took his socks off.

"'Don't ruin my flowers' Ms. Flyt said. 'No casting around them, it disarms the finish.'"

He jumped onto the window sill, and then jumped again to grab hold of the top, pulling himself up and standing on top of his own window. The wind messed up his hair in the opposite direction it had been when he woke up. He let out a sigh.

"What the hell does that mean?"

He turned his neck up; his shoes were just outside of his reach. He could reach them if he jumped, but the wooden frame he was standing on was already creaking loudly enough to want him to get off with as little protest as he could manage from the abused wood.

He pulled out his wand.

"No magic – and the stick is still dead-useful."

Using his favorite piece of wood in the world to reach his favorite – and only – pair of sneaky sneakers in the world, Harry sat down, deciding that the frame wasn't whining loudly enough to warrant a decisive escape. He used his wand to summon his socks up to where he sat. Once those were on, along with his shoes, he decided to do a quick mental checklist of what he had planned for today.

"Absolutely nothing. Check."

He sighed. Eyeing the bustling crowds below him, waving half-heartedly at the pretty lady hanging some manner of leopard skin on her window to dry on the building across from his impromptu chair, she waved back with a smile. Harry couldn't find it in him to get excited about that. Life had been completely uneventful ever since he decided that working anywhere near an office would simply be too suffocating.

"Maybe if I had known freedom would be this boring," He mused, "I would have taken that auror position."

He shook his head at that thought. No, he had tasted freedom briefly between the war ended and the time he was offered a job he didn't even have proper qualifications for. And it was the sweetest thing he had ever experienced, and he was completely hooked on it now.

"And yet…"

He sighed again, and quickly resolved to stop doing that. He had promised himself, while looking at the most sarcastic magical mirror in the world, that he would not whine about anything his own choices had brought about.

The mirror then whined about his choice of hoodie. Harry no longer has a mirror in his room.

Deciding it was time for breakfast, Harry swung down into his room.

The mornings were the Leaky Cauldron's loudest time of the day, as Inn-goers, both permanent and otherwise, were all entitled to, and partook on, breakfast before they left on their own business.

A young woman, dressed in brown robes and bushy hair held in an equally-bushy-yet-charming ponytail scanned the morning crowd with brown eyes. She had an air of anxiety about her, and the loud inn-stayers didn't help her state at all. Over at one corner she spotted a man in a gray hoodie enjoying a bowl of what could only pass for cereal in a place like the Cauldron. She still wasn't used to the sight of him like that, and only recognized him for his attire, which hadn't changed in what felt like a year.

"He could use some more clothes."

She walked to his table, shaking her head.

"Honestly, you looked better with glasses."

Harry looked up from his half-empty bowl, "I was easier to find, you mean," He motioned with his spoon at the chair on the opposite side of the table, "And good morning to you too, Hermione."

Hermione smiled as she took the offered seat.

Harry ate his cereal quietly, waiting for his not-all-that-unexpected visitor to open the conversation. A few minutes passed, and he was almost done with his cereal when he looked up at Hermione in wonder. She seemed to be staring past him, not really focused on anything. He snapped his fingers, and she reacted, blinking her eyes in bewilderment.

"Oh- I… Sorry, just thinking." She let out, not quite in the same room just yet.

"… Right." Harry drawled. He pushed his bowl aside and stared at her in quiet contemplation. Now that he actually looked at her, he noticed that she had bags under her eyes, which wasn't all that unusual, given her belief that beds are made for reading, but they were somewhat red and puffy.

He snapped his fingers, much louder this time, startling Hermione back from wherever her mind was at, "You had that interview! That thing with the…" He trailed off, the words escaping him.

"With the Department of Magical Education." Hermione supplied.

"Right! That thing, Education. Hate those tossers, letting the Toad into a school and all that."

Hermione laughed, but it was a sad thing and Harry suddenly caught the signs.

"… It didn't go well, I'm guessing."

She looked at him for a moment, as if trying to think up the words, but as they failed to come out, she merely nodded.

Harry muttered something nasty under his breath, and signaled Tom to bring them both something to drink. Tom would know to bring her something warm and sweet. It was quite possibly the most wonderful piece of magic ever worked in the Leaky Cauldron – how the proprietary always knew when a customer needed something that they wouldn't order themselves.

"What happened?" He asked.

Hermione's gaze gained a little bit of steel to it, "They asked me what I thought about my education at Hogwarts," She paused with a meaningful look, and Harry motioned for her to continue, "I was very honest, Harry."

He grimaced, "Guess they didn't like the gritty details?"

"It's not that they- Harry, they knew everything. Of course they knew everything. Perhaps not back then, but they certainly do now," Her eyes turned down, "But they didn't like that I knew, or that I was so willing to talk about it. They're trying to forget – and make sure everyone else does, too."

Harry looked at her with a frown, "Forget what, exactly?"

Hermione looked at him like he'd grown a garden gnome out of his hoodie, "Everything! The fraud teachers, the horrible standards for Muggle Studies, Divination, the near-deaths, the actual deaths, the fact that they let Dumbledore run everything despite so much of it falling under Department jurisdiction."

Harry understood, "Ah, and you weren't willing to drop it, I wager."

"Of course not!" And she was on fire once more, "How could I? If we let everyone forget, it could happen again! Or- or maybe something worse!"

He put his hands up, "I get it, I get it," He raised an eyebrow in amusement, "But still, I thought you were subtler than that."

Now Hermione looked like someone slapped her, "… You, telling me, to be subtle?" She shook her head in amazement, "I must have hit something below bedrock."

Harry shrugged; he knew what she was getting at. His escape from everything holding him down involved a shouting Weasley girl, a brawl with two of her older siblings, and flipping off Shacklebolt on his way out of Hermione's home. Ron still laughed whenever he remembered it. Hermione's parents wrote sometimes, and they never failed to ask him to come over for dinner sometime.

At least that's what he thought she was talking about.

"So, any other prospects?"

Hermione sighed again, looking up to see Tom arrive at their table, with a mug of hot cocoa for her and what appeared to be a strawberry milkshake for Harry.

"Tom has milkshakes now?"

"Hah!" Harry laughed, "The Leaky Cauldron has been selling milkshakes since the seventeenth century. Or at least that's how old Tom swears the recipe is."

It was Hermione's turn to shrug, "It wouldn't surprise me."

"What does, these days?"

"You, for one." Hermione answered.

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Harry rose an eyebrow, and Hermione took a sip of her cocoa, "You left your old life behind, all your prospects, your girlfriend, and your home just to 'chase freedom'," she gestured in a sweeping motion at the pub around them, "And here you are, imprisoned by your own boredom."

Harry leant back in his chair with an exasperated look, "Well, Dark Lords are in short supply these days. Trust me, I looked. Know everyone in Knockturn Alley by name now. There's another witch named Hermione there, you know."

Hermione laughed, even though she knew he was avoiding the issue, "I didn't know there were other parents as cruel as mine."

"Well I don't know about that. Hermione's a good, long name. Long names are great; you can shorten them in many ways. Mione, Hermy, Hione, and the like. Can't do much with Harry," He frowned in contemplation, "I think the witch was named Hermione. Not too clear on that whole afternoon. You can only enter Blue Beverages And Maybe Red Ones after you let the bouncer hit you over the head with a Snargaluff stick. Didn't ask why," He finished with a shrug.

Hermione laughed again, much louder this time, "You have way too much time to yourself these days. These are things you've been thinking about for a while."

Harry smiled, and finished his milkshake, "You didn't answer my question."

"Oh," Hermione nodded, "I had another interview planned for today – with Gringotts. For a position as Curse Breaker. Bill helped set it up."

"Curse Breaker. You. What?" Harry shook his head, "Hermione Granger, taking a dangerous position, and me rotting in this broom graveyard?" He ignored Tom's 'Hey!' from a table over, "What happened to the world after I went to bed last night?"

Hermione smiled wickedly, something he'd seen enough times to know she meant business, "Maybe I need some danger in my life, too. Seven years' worth of adventure with you and Ron isn't something I can easily put behind me right away," She gave him a pointed look, "And I don't think you ever will, Harry."

"Maybe."

She knew him too damn well.

They talked amiably for about half an hour, until at last Hermione deemed that it was time to arrive two hours early to her interview.

"I'll see you whenever, then."

"Wait," She seemed to doubt herself for a moment, "Is it okay if I come over later – tonight, maybe?"

Harry looked at her, puzzled, "… It's a pub and an inn; I can't actually keep anyone from coming."

She slapped his arm, "Prat. You know what I mean."

Harry shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

She smiled, "Right, then," She hugged him tightly, which caught him by surprise, "Later. Tonight, then."

He blinked, "Right."

He watched her leave in a bit of a surprise.

"… Was that a Moment?" He asked out loud.

"That was like ten Moments all packed in a chocolate card, boy."

Harry turned towards the voice, and saw an old wizard and a young witch sitting at a table. The wizard had a bald head and a long beard, dressed in plain-looking black robes. The witch could have been put in the cover of a magazine, blonde and charming smile under bright blue eyes with near-perfect curves. The look probably cost her a hundred-and-fifty galleons two buildings over from Gringotts at the Mirrors Love Us Spa & Rebirth.

"Yeah, I thought it was." Harry replied, still surprised.

The old wizard nodded, "At least she's decent enough to do it with a friend she's known for years, unlike my daughter here. Has been married three times now and the latest she met a month ago."

"Dad, please," The young with pleaded, and turned to Harry, "Love works however it wants to, I just know to seize every opportunity," She gave him a sultry look, "And you should take this one."

Harry blinked once, twice, and turned to exit the cauldron.

"Was that really it?"

He stopped just by the door to Muggle London.

"Nah."

Harry had started taking walks out of boredom months ago, and ended up bored during most walks despite his attempts otherwise.

"I think this is Brentford."

It wasn't the first time Harry got lost in the Muggle world. By now he'd made a hobby out of it.

"I'm pretty sure I was walking north. Why am I Brentford?"

Surely enough, he spotted a sign with what appeared to be a Football Club's coat, with some bees in it.

"Is this Orchard Road, or…"

All the houses looked the same, really. It was actually a trend in the towns surrounding London, Muggles liked to line up their homes and make them look as alike as possible.

"I'll just find a quiet spot and apparate back to the Alley."

The shades of gray up above were looking a little bit more like they did late in the afternoon.

"Could have enchanted my old glasses to tell me where I am. Dumbledore did it."

He shook his head, "Then again, Dumbledore's glasses had enough enchantments in them as to qualify as a piece of magical artillery."

It wasn't quite time to meet with Hermione back at the Cauldron. He let himself laugh at that, it had been almost a full year since he thought about being on time for anything. He'd forgotten what that was like.

"Wonder what, exactly, is on her mind."

It couldn't be as simple as the girl suddenly wanting to start something with him. Hermione was much subtler than that, for one. And last he checked Ron wasn't dead.

"Here's hoping they didn't break up," He shook his head, "Poor fellow would never find anyone else willing to put up with him."

No, she likely had some sort of plan to break him, and apparently, her, out of their post-adventure boredom.

"This looks calm enough."

He was standing under an arch sign that read 'Watermans Park' and looking at the greenery around him he determined the sign to not be lying about the 'Park' part.

"Now to find myself some shade and-"

"Feel…"

He almost stumbled on nothing when he heard that voice.

"What was that?"

"Hear…"

He looked around, there was no one holding up a stereo, so his first theory was thrown off the broomstick. The next theory was that he had gone insane in his boredom, and now he would have to get used to hearing voices.

"Think…"

"That's the problem, all this thinking."

He tried to listen for a while longer, leaning against a tree in case he started to get dizzy or whatever other symptoms came with insanity. The voice didn't return.

What came next, he decided, felt much worse.

Suddenly, it was like every bad feeling, every sudden realization and every survival instinct he'd ever had in his life flared up at once in the same moment in the form of the sharpest feeling he'd ever had in the back of his neck, forcing him to turn around.

There, before him, stood a figure in black hooded robes with purple patterns, the robe seemed to have some form of armor of black around the shoulders and to the sides.

What caught his attention the most was the mask under the hood. It was red, and covered only half his face. What it did not cover was an extremely dark grin. Harry thought it was probably because that grin was far more unnerving than the rest of his getup.

"Black, hooded robes, wearing a red mask," He would have cursed out loud if he didn't feel like that would distract him, "When did I pull out my wand?"

The figure regarded him silently, no movement betrayed any emotion, and Harry felt as if it was just the two of them standing upon a dead world, a pressure weighing down on him and threatening to crush him into the ground. He had only felt something like it once, years ago, tied down to a tombstone in a much grayer place.

"You would do well to ignore her call, boy."

That voice, Harry decided, was laced with the darkest intent he'd ever felt from anyone. It was obviously male, yet even more obviously, evil.

Harry had never thought anything could be entirely evil by itself, not even Voldemort - the world had never been that black and white, unfortunately. That notion had suddenly been disproved by a mere sentence.

"But you are bereft of choice, are you not?"

The figure walked closer, and Harry barely kept himself from taking a step back, he had to force himself to keep his wand pointed at the man.

"Who are you?"

"What are you?" He didn't voice.

"'Tis always so for your kind. Your fate is not one I would force on mine own foes."

Harry's response was a wordless blasting curse. He hit nothing but a tree several meters away, the figure having disappeared in a black mist. It was the years of fighting for his life that made Harry turn around in time to see the man in robes appear from the same darkness that had swallowed him.

"And at the same time," His voice was laced with dark irony, "It is that very fate that will place us as enemies."

Harry was starting to get pretty angry, "Who are you?! What are you talking about?!" He finished each question with another curse, which the robed figure dodged by disappearing in the same haze of black as before.

The man didn't reappear after his last curse, and Harry slowly but surely felt the world's worth of weight that had been placed on his shoulders disappear. He fell on his rear, leaning his back against the tree, breathing heavily and sweating.

The sound and feeling of running water was all Harry could experience as he held his head under the shower head. He tried to let his worries be washed away into the drain, but the encounter back at the park refused to leave him.

He exited the shower and put on the same outfit he'd been wearing all day – already clean, pressed, and folded in his dresser. He still didn't know how that worked. He'd ask Tom whenever he didn't feel like death was breathing down his neck.

He was leaning against the window, watching his shoes trying, and failing, to unlock it and escape once more.

"Hear…"

Harry ran a tired hand through his still-wet hair, "I hear you- I heard you the first time, alright?!"

"Feel… Learn…"

He was starting to lose patience with the – female, he realized – voice, "Feel what? Learn what?!" He directed his words at the ceiling in his exasperation, for all he knew the voice could be coming from below, tot he sides, behind, anywhere.

"Hopefully not from my head."

The voice did not answer. Harry didn't think himself lucky enough as to believe it had given up.

The sun was still nowhere near the horizon; it would still be a few hours before Hermione would show up, even if she decided to come early, as was her wont.

"Stop that, will you?" His sneakers gave up trying to escape, and let themselves flop down to the ground, seemingly defeated.

Harry just let them lay there and jumped onto his bed. Deciding to take a nap, he let his eyes close. The events of the day put him to sleep faster than he thought they would.

Place Unknown, Date unknown

He stood on nothing.

No, that was right. Whatever he was standing on simply wasn't visible. Nothing else was, now that he tried to look around him.

"Where am I?"

As if in answer to his thought, the world around him lit up in tones of blue, green and white. Wisps of mostly blue seemed to swirl everywhere, bright enough to light up what seemed to be a void, but still not hurting his eyes when he looked.

"I still don't know where I am."

He seemed to be standing upon a circular platform of pure life. He could see bright lines forming a pattern of indiscernible purpose.

"Hear ye, child."

It was that voice again, this time clearer than ever before. He turned, and there was a shining mountain in front of him.

"Bloody hell."

It was a floating mountain seemingly made of crystal, shaped like almost like a diamond yet completely irregular, more like a teardrop of solid, shining rock. A colossal one. Its glow washed over Harry for a few moments, and never before had he felt so much at peace with all things as he did then.

"I am Hydaelyn. All made one."

And the gargantuan crystal was speaking.

"Hearken unto me, child of another, that I would make thee mine own."

Harry's first thought was a flippant remark that he was not, in fact, up for adoption. He swallowed it down, this thing – Hydaelyn – appeared to have a different idea in mind.

"What do you- this, what does all of this mean?"

"Child of another, thou art needed."

"Needed? For what?"

"Darkness falls upon the land, and mine children have long lost They who could deliver them from it."

Harry hesitated upon those words. This- this person? Crystal? Being? Was asking for his help, whatever she thought he could give. That much was obvious, what was not obvious was why exactly, she had come to him.

"Mine light shine upon thee the brightest, child of another."

That startled Harry, "Don't read my mind, it's gross in there."

"Thou art not without a choice. 'Tis merely a request for thine aid that I make."

If this was a dream, Harry thought, it was by far the strangest one he'd ever had, "It's also the most livid, even taking my old not-nightmares into account."

He thought back to the day's events, the dark figure in the robes that visited him at the park in – Brentford, was it? Perhaps this is what he referred to. The fate that would make them enemies.

"But you are bereft of choice, are you not? 'Tis always so for your kind."

His kind? The hero-complex-kind, maybe. Harry could never turn down an honest request for help, even when didn't know how he could help.

So, in that way, he didn't really feel like he had a choice.

"... This is what I wanted, wasn't it? Something - anything meaningful to do. Another adventur," His wanderlust was slowly going into overdrive.

"… You know my answer, then." His face was set to a resigned, but content smile as he looked up at the middle point of the gigantic crystal.

"Feel… Learn… See… Hear… Roam…"

His surroundings were getting brighter with every word that came from the crystal.

"Walk into mine land with bright purpose in thy heart, and thou shall do all these and more, ever under the light of the Crystal."

Everything got unbelievably bright, and this time Harry had to shield his eyes lest he go blind.

"Welcome, my child."

Limsa Lominsa Lower Decks, 5th Sun of the 1st Umbral Moon, 4th Year of the Seventh Umbral Era.

"Was supposed to be an easy one. Buzz the bloak and get out, enforce the Code later tonight."

A figure dressed in mostly green colors ran through the decks of the city as quickly as the market crowds allowed.

"Should've known the salt-less bastard would be a Yellow Jacket without 'is colors."

Jacke, or as he was sometimes called, Captain Jacke, was not having a good day so far. He'd taken up a job to steal back a purse taken from a fishwife by what appeared to be a pirate bereft of crew.

It seemed easy, and in a way, it was. He walked, strutted, even, happy as he like into the Drowning Wench, spotted the burly – for a midlander – pissing away the ill-obtained coin in what passed for a good drink only in a pirate's tongue, and picked his pocket without the mark being none the wiser.

"Wasn't counting on 'is mates."

The man had been under the watch of the Yellow Jackets, possibly looking out for him during his leave, likely caused by whatever gave the man a limp.

"Didn't keep 'im from biting that skin from the mort, didn't they?"

He heard shouting, getting closer and closer each passing minute, and he cursed under his breath loudly enough to turn a few heads.

"Would as I'd waited a few bells and I could've brought the mob. Never work in the lightmans, I says to 'em. Shoot the moon, I repeat."

He turned a corner, the glow of the Aetheryte in the plaza a few yalms away was noticeable from where he stood. He shook his head.

"Stray's never gonna let me catch the end of it."

"Got you, thief!"

Jacke rolled just in time to avoid a flying great axe from severing him in half. It embedded itself deep into the stone he had been leaning against in his failed attempt to hide in the daylight.

He turned to where the axe came from and saw his mark, flanked by three Yellow Jackets, two big Roegadyns and another Hyur.

He spread his arms with a smile, "Can't say as I know what you mean, lads."

The Hyur in civilian clothes spat at the ground, "Don't try an' play us for muffs, thief."

Jacke's smile faded, "Can't mill 'em here and now. Admiral would hang me from my shins 'til the era shifted."

He took a few steps back, each one taking him closer to the Aetheryte in the middle of the plaza.

His pursuers reacted, "Don't let him escape!" Shouted the middle man.

Jacke hadn't thought of that, he wouldn't have the type to escape through the crystal, anyway.

"Not with the traps stepping on my soles."

Still, he could attempt to make a run out of Limsa, assuming he made it through the plaza, and even more unlikely, right under the admiral's lodgings, even more guarded than the Jacket's headquarters.

"Should've drank some dew before all of this."

The men coming at him stopped before he could turn and make a run for his life.

"What in the seven hells is that?!"

Jacke almost scoffed at the oldest trick in the rogue's book, before he realized the men were stepping away from him.

"No," he thought as he turned around, "From the crystal."

The Aetheryte, large, beautiful and blue, set in the middle of the plaza and just a couple yalms from where he stood, started to crack.

"Impossible."

Lines of white, brighter than the stone's natural glow, formed faster than he could follow them across the crystal's surface.

Jacke's eyes widened.

"Everyone, hit the deck!" He shouted at the plaza's crowd, the men chasing him included. Jacke barely had time to throw himself down to the ground and cover his head with his arms before the crystal exploded.

Even grounded as he was, the shockwave pushed him and made him roll along the ground, out of control and completely disoriented. The world was all white glow and wisps of blue. Jacke fought hard to remain conscious as he hit his back against a wall, and just barely managed it.

He blinked away black spots in his vision, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been hit as hard as the wall he found himself against did.

He stood up on confident legs – he still had his trusty sea legs, and he thanked the Twelve for that – and looked around the plaza.

"What a queer sight."

Indeed, never before had he seen the plaza devoid of its crystal – stranger still, it was completely devoid of any crystal, no fragments could be seen embedded on anything or anyone. The Lominsans were trying to pick themselves up, and he couldn't see his would-be captors anywhere in the crowd.

"Peelers likely blown away off the plaza, and down to the pond."

It was likely the fate of many, but he decided to count his blessings for what they were.

"Best to hook it while I can."

Something in the middle of the plaza caught his sight.

"Never seen that before."

And by that, he referred to the strange clothes worn by the unconscious midlander lying on the ground where the Aetheryte previously stood.

"Ul'dahn, maybe?" He shook his head, there were more important questions to ask. Where did this one come from? Why was he not blown away? Was he teleporting into Limsa through the Crystal as it exploded?

"Did this bloak star the spark?"

He was curious, and he wasn't known for leaving his curiosity lying in the middle of plazas.

He picked up the Hyur, a young man, from what he glimpsed. Lighter than he looked, only slightly shorter than Jacke himself was.

"To the Sisters or the Wench?"

He had two choices, he could drop off the man at the inn and say his drunken mate didn't even remember where he lived before he passed out, so he'd cover his stay at the Drowning Wench. Then he could just skulk and follow the man when he woke up, it was the easiest way to learn who he was. Or he could take him to the guild headquarters, and learn everything first hand. Assuming he was willing to spill anything, that is. No point getting rough with someone who was not yet proven to have broken the Code.

"Only coin I have on me is what I bit back from the mark."

And it definitely wasn't his to use, he decided. He shook the man over his shoulder, and failed to hear any jingle of coins.

He then heard shouting coming from several directions as people came into the plaza to inspect the damage. And made his decision.

"To the Sisters it is."

A/N: Seems about long enough for a start, I think. Just a little under six thousand words.

I was frankly tempted to post some twenty thousand words worth of story at first. But as this is quite a new experiment, even if it's one I feel fairly confident about, I decided to start small, gauge the reaction, and build up from there. You might spot a few mistakes as a result of this - I didn't want to compromise too much. We'll see how it all goes from here on out.

Leave a review if you like the idea and want to see some more.

'Til next time.