“What do you mean you cannot reactivate it?” Elmira asked, struggling to keep the impatience out of her voice.

The man with the grand mustache, dressed in a sparkling green and blue uniform, huffed and puffed out his chest. “It is not possible, lady.”

“Of course it is, here let me show you.”

Her path got blocked by a pair of guards faster than she could blink. They wore their weapons lowered, but there was no mistaking the steel in their eyes. She could practically see the hushed whispers going through the crowd like a fire message, even if the ringing in her ears kept her from hearing it. Probably for the best. Why was this place so bloody familiar? She wished her head would stop spinning.

Once they’d made sure she wasn’t dead or severely injured, they had turned on her pretty quickly. Apparently, the Portal had not meant to be opened, and instead, the space was used for a farmer’s market. Which was now disrupted, and in no small part destroyed. That only a handful of people had been injured was nothing short of a miracle.

No amount of apologizing, or assurance that it was just an accident, had appeased the guards waiting to haul her off, or the uniformed man who had come running at the commotion. Her explanations had fallen on deaf ears, and he looked more sour for each passing minute.

Facing the man, she flashed him her sweetest smile, clasping her hands in front of her. While his expression did not change, there was a dangerous tension to his posture that told her matters could escalate in a matter of seconds.

She did not appreciate being looked down upon, and this pompous man was giving her the most uncivil stare she had ever seen. The pride with which he bore his position would be admirable, not to mention the technical finesse of dismissal he had undoubtedly honed for many years, if he was not the one who stood between her and her home.

“Nobody touches the Portal without written authorization from the Bureau of International Travel in triplicate with the orange stamp for Portal Access, attached to form 67B from the Engineer’s Guild.”

She gaped. ”That is not a thing!”

“Take it up with the Court.”

The Court. Which Court? She took a moment to go through a couple of lovely scenarios of beating the smirk off his face.

“I am in a hurry,” she said, enunciating each word, applying the melodious lilt of the high akatian accent that felt foreign to her tongue.

It was the wrong thing to do. His stare was no longer merely uncivil, it was downright venomous. His lips disappeared entirely when he smiled.

“Then you will be pleased to know that the next activation will occur at third bell.”

Elmira squinted at the sun peeking out between the metallic structures overhead, trying to take stock of the time. Best estimate, it was midday. Whatever that meant here.

“Not too bad,” she said slowly.

“Fifteen days from now,” he added, with a victorious chortle that nearly made one of those fictional scenarios come true.

“Are you kidding me?” she bellowed in the most un-ladylike manner she had ever mustered, and she had lived on Sangora as a maze runner.

He huffed, lifting his chin. “Look, that is the schedule, lady. I only work here.”

Elmira scowled. For someone who only works there, he took his job extremely seriously. She straightened her own back, trying to become taller, but the man still towered at least a head and a half over her.

“My name is Elmira, not lady,” she said, eyes flashing. “I am the Elder of Agartha.”

He gave her a critical once over. “Then you really ought to know the schedule. That Council of yours decided on it together with the Omored Court as recently as two years ago. You must have hit your head hard to forget something like that, Elder. Though personally, I believe you are full of crap. No offense.”

The pain in her head exploded when she spun around, and it was all she could to remain upright. She took stock of her surroundings, the structures, the design, even the man in front of her, twirling his mustache.

She blamed the concussion for not having spotted it sooner. “Varu? This is Varu?”  

“Where did you think you were?” he jeered.

Not in the middle of the Morimyr Ocean, that’s where.

“Someplace else...”

Clearly bored, he just shrugged. “Tough.”

She cared little for his tone, or the look on his face. Besides, people were sniggering

now, openly ogling the derailed, sand-covered, bruised rogue screaming at the guards. She had to get out of there before the guards decided it would be prudent to lock her up to teach her a lesson. Or someone from the Syndicate came looking.

Rolling back her shoulders and lifting her chin, she threw one look at the Portal and gave the man an imploring look with the most superior expression she could muster without throwing up. Wrinkling his nose, he pointed curtly towards a pair of gates shaped like pillars leading out of the courtyard. They stood like a mirror of the Portal, acting like a second, earthly passage into this world. Fueled by superstition, it was nonetheless elegant.

Just like that, she was outside in the blazing sun bouncing off the roofs of the city sprawling out before her. Finding herself on top of the high terrace, there was little doubt Elmira had truly landed on Inner Varu.

“Great,” she said to no one in particular. “That is just great.”

Cultivator Wanda’s hometown buzzed with activity. It wasn’t difficult to see where Wanda got her quirkiness from. When she had been elected as the Roya representative to the Council, Inner Varu had celebrated for weeks. They loved their own. Varu was a place where the law bends but never truly breaks, making it a magnet for merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers. Thriving on its contradictions, it was a haven for both trade and piracy, order and chaos, independence and opportunism.

Elmira stepped onto the platformed lift and began the long descent into town. With a love of metals, concrete, and plain surfaces, Inner Varu sported one of the more sterile environments in Avaleen. It was also one of the most beautiful places if one took time to appreciate it. She had been there when the truce had been signed, freeing Varu from foreign control. From this height, the six discs of Inner Varu sprawled like a painting before her. Elaren rose around her the closer she got to the ground. It was considered the heart of Varu, and not just because this was home to the Court and the trading houses. The air was filled with the sound of bird song and flocks darting back and forth across the sky.

There was a religion on this island stemming from a small cult thousands of generations ago, that among other things, also held that the holiest of animals was a small bird native to Varu. Roughly the size of half a fist, it had a sweet song and when the light shone through its wings; it sparkled in radiant rainbows. Each bird had a unique, dazzling pattern.

It was not to be disturbed. Any attempt was punishable by law, and therefore the population went unchecked.

However, because of that, there was a period in history when diseases roamed like plagues through the humanoid population before development caught up. Towers were erected of intricate designs throughout the capital, each with a million holes for nests and containing everything the birds could ever need or want. Every once in a while, a flock would move out and it took architects and ornithologists a lot of hair-pulling to get them to move back in.

A huge sanitation team cleaned up the excrement. It was considered an honor to be selected for the position. Thus, the planet was now ridiculously clean. These days the people who lived here seldom suffered diseases or contagions caused by an unsanitary environment or attitude.

Which, now that she had simmered down a little, was probably the reason for regulating the amount of external travel. There was probably a fear for new germs and viruses, tracked in by unchecked visitors.

Stepping off the escalator, Elmira pulled the hood down to hide her face.

“Now what?” she wondered with her mind’s voice, exhausted and more than a little sore.

No reply. Figures, she thought. Her head spun like a carnival ride, and she was pretty sure something in her abdomen had fractured in that last attempt to fly. Taking refuge in a darker alley, she slid down to the ground, letting the metal ease the heat of the swelling and cool her aching back.

What did she know? One, the planet with her shuttle was out of reach. Two, there was a two-week wait to use the Portal again, and even then, she did not have transport to Agartha Nova, seeing how that portal was still under construction. Perhaps she could wait? It was to be activated for the Guardian’s Awakening ceremony and not one moment sooner. Of course, she was the one to open it during that very same ceremony so that plan went out the window.

It had been her own stupid idea to appease the other Council members, a decision she now regretted with a vengeance. Ceremony and symbolism over practicality was a trait she’d filed down with the dust and grit of Sangora and somehow it was still coming back to bite her ass.

Es, I need a drink, she thought, wincing when her muscles finally relaxed, and the pain became more pronounced.

Getting her feet under her again was one of the hardest things she had done. Harder than moving across the rooftops of the Base. Harder than fighting harpies. Bracing herself against the wall, she waited for the nausea to abate enough to move. Running on spite alone, she was soon upright and heading down a path she vaguely remembered from her days as a youngling.

Never had a sign given her more joy than the one above the shady bar close to the harbor, practically next door to the Omored Court’s headquarters. The air smelled of salt, rotting fish, and seaweed.

The bar itself was quite empty this time of day, but you could spot the usual lot. Seafarers and people down on their luck sat slumped over tankards and half-filled plates. No one looked up when she came in, and the room was plunged back into darkness when the door shut behind her.

Like the rest of the place, there was a cleanliness you would not expect from such an establishment. There were no shells or stains on the floor. The tables were polished, though the metal had lost most of its shine. The air was also relatively clean, which was more than what you could say about the patrons.

Elmira zeroed in on the bar running along the back and climbed up on a stool with some difficulty, letting out an unladylike groan. She had forgotten how tall everyone was in this part of the world. Wanda was nothing like them.

“Then again, Wanda is nothing like anyone,” the voice said.  

“Easy now,” Elmira chided. “We like her.”

The half-orc woman behind the bar abandoned her task of polishing an already well-polished canister and ambled over. She looked worn around the edges as if she hadn’t gotten enough sleep in the past month.

The woman asked her something. Elmira looked at her, dumbfounded. Nothing about the question sounded familiar, and she had once prided herself on her linguistic skills. With a sigh, the bartender switched over to the common tongue.

“Not from around here, then?” she said with a thick drawl.

“Just passing through.”

The bartender started reaching for a tab. “Moonshine?”  

“I’ve tasted your moonshine,” Elmira said with a grimace. “Ale for me. Karenian, if you have.”  

The bartender grumbled in disgust, shaking her head, but produced a dusty bottle of ale from the far back of a cupboard. She placed it in front of Elmira with a dull thud and wiped her hands, wiping down the bottle as an afterthought.

“Three silver.”  

“Three?!” Elmira’s jaw dropped.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a robbery,” she said wearily. “Pay up.”

Grumbling, Elmira handed over the money and took a swig of the ale. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it still tasted like wet burlap spiced with hops, swirled in lukewarm fruit juice. It had to do. She was nearly out of coin, anyway, and not up for a debate about what constitutes a proper ale.

A platter generously loaded with bread and sliced of cheese clattered down in front of her. At her inquisitive glance, the woman shrugged with that same bored look on her face.

“On the house,” she said by way of explanation. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer twice.”

“Sanid,” she replied, the varuvian word for thanks.

The smile never reached her lips, but Elmira knew she had won someone in this place over. Minor victories.

Digging in, she realized how hungry she was. What the ale lacked, the food more than made up for it, simple as it was. Fresh cheese and soft bread that had not gone stale seemed to her a luxury after her life on Sangora. After washing down the meal with the rest of the ale, she felt like a new person. The bartender came up again, wordlessly cleaning away the dishes.

“Something else?” she asked, clearly unused to the language.

Elmira looked around. There was a door she had noticed when her eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Elmira nodded at it, going on a hunch.

“Voiroshin.”

The woman stared at her. It was a code word used by smugglers and the like when they got to a new harbor, and Elmira’s hunch seemed to pan out. With an eye roll that could have toppled a ship, the bartender pressed a button under the disc. The door whined open just enough for Elmira to slip through.

On the other side of the door was a short corridor leading to a different part of the building. It was as clean as the rest of the town. Free of both dust and moisture and lined with glowing crystals that gave off a soft, red light. The corridor opened up and she found herself standing in the corner of a room that was much larger and much shabbier. From a first glance, she gathered that no one here knew what a dust rag was, let alone how to use one. In many ways, it reminded her of her local bar back at Base 19. Such was the world of smugglers and those who were up to no good. Same people, and same shit everywhere, no matter what or where you ended up.

This place was packed to the brim. It was hard to move between tables. She took a seat at the make-shift bar hugging the wall closest to her, looking out over the room.

“Full house,” she remarked to who she assumed was the proprietor when he walked up.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Agarthian Portal is about to open,” he said, pouring a hefty glass of moonshine. “Folks around here have waited a long time for that. Never thought we’d see the day.”

Elmira grimaced, sliding over a silver in return. Not her favorite, but it was something to savor. Taking a sip dulled the ache in her bones just enough to clear her mind. Coughing roughly as the liquid made its way down her throat she suddenly heard what the man had said.

“I am sorry, the Portal? Agartha is coming back on the map?”

The man grinned. “Hell yeah, that’s the word. Good for business.”

“Impossible,” she said far too loudly, earning a few suspicious looks. She threw her hands out. “I mean, I heard they weren’t gonna activate it until that Trial of the Orb they’re so fond of.”

“Right,” a human patron nodded. “That’s what, three weeks from now?” he asked the gnomish woman next to him dressed in studded leather and wielding a mean-looking halberd.

“No, it’s not,” Elmira said with a short laugh.

“Yeah, pretty sure it is, doll,” the woman said. “It’s the talk of the town. Even got a sending from a friend in AN. Says it’s true.”

Elmira struggled to breathe. None of this was right. Sure there had been mishaps along the way, but she had made good time. No way the Awakening was happening so soon. Unless…

“You alright there, hon?” the man wondered, cutting through her panic.

“Sure, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just, the daughter of a friend of mine is taking the Trial is all. I was supposed to be there.”

“Three weeks might be a little tight. You’re cutting it awfully close.”

She let out an explosive groan. “How the hell am I gonna get there in time?”

The proprietor shrugged, placing a couple of glasses of moonshine on a tray, and

disappeared into the crowd. From somewhere down the middle came a round of cheers, the drinks evidently finding their owners. The couple looked at her with pity.

It’s impossible, I made good time, she thought stubbornly, thinking fast and accidentally downing half her drink. She coughed so hard that she was sure her spleen came loose, earning a smirk from the woman. No longer feeling her throat, she downed the other half. It went straight to her brain. Might as well, seeing how she was on the other side of the galaxy from where she needed to be.

“Hey,” the gnomish woman slid another shot her way. “There’s plenty folks here looking for a job and transport’s an easy gig. Drink up."

“She’s right. Better get a move on,” the dry voice sniffed. “Chop, chop.”

“You know this is your fault, right?” Elmira asked her but got no reply. The silence stretched out. Elmira didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. She raised her glass and downed the shot.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice strained from the alcohol.

“Good luck!” the couple called after her.

Securing everything she had close to her skin, she made her way through the crowd, swaying a little for dramatic effect. The hidden tavern buried beneath the heart of Varu had walls scarred from years of drunken brawls, with wooden beams blackened by candle smoke and the occasional fire. Flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows across the packed, grimy tables where scavengers, smugglers, and mercenaries traded stolen wares, whispered secrets, and settled grudges with clenched fists or drawn blades. But this was still Varu and the Omored laws were still law. Sanctuary meant sanctuary. Didn’t mean people had to be happy about it, or make threats.

The air was thick with the sound of clinking tankards, raucous laughter, and the occasional thud of a body hitting the floor. Elmira weaved through the crowd with practiced ease. At a corner booth, she happened upon a trio of scavengers sitting hunched over a small metallic sphere, its surface flickering with strange runes. They whispered in a tongue not meant for common ears, their elongated fingers tapping restlessly against the wooden table. One of them, a wiry creature with too many teeth, glanced up and met Elmira’s curious look. The scavenger grinned, a wide, unsettling thing, before draping a rag over the device and pulling it closer. She shrugged and moved on. She could take a hint.

Curiosity still nagged at her though and her fingers itched to get her hands on that device, to study it, find out more. Go off on an adventure or two. Must be the moonshine talking. She had a mission. To get home.

“What was the girl’s name again?” came a loud voice from out of the crowd, hoarse from years of smoking and strong spirits.

“Liana,” came the answer, but a nearby brawl drowned the rest out.

The familiar name caught her ear. Elmira’s blood alternatively boiled and froze, overhearing the name of the disgraced Guardian. Stopping to idly observe a game of craps, she strained her hearing, trying to snap up more to no avail. She gritted her teeth, looking around for the speaker.

“You ask me,” the man said again. “I’d love to have her on my ship if you catch my drift.”

The crowd parted just enough for her to spot the source of the laughter. A placid-looking, green-headed smuggler with an easy smile and wandering fingers. Even as she watched, he relieved his neighbor of his purse and a couple of knickknacks.

She noted the wing-pins that indicated they had shuttles in the spaceport. Ignoring the stiffness in her joints, she sauntered up to their table.

“I need a ride,” she told them, looking each of them straight in the eye.

“That could probably be arranged,” a sleezy guy with other things on his mind said, putting his feet up on the table one at a time.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” another said, slapping the feet away, causing the first guy to topple over and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Everyone laughed. The closest to her looked her up and down. There was a toothpick in his mouth, and he seemed to have forgotten to close several buttons. And he was the most normal of the bunch. She braced herself for the inevitable remarks.

“Where to, love?” he asked.

“Anyone know someone flying through the Straits?”

The change was immediate as if someone had flipped a switch. No longer jovial, they all sobered up and disappeared into their drinks.

“No one drops by Erid,” the gutter-mind man told her.  

They grunted in agreement, no longer looking her way. She couldn’t help but notice nearby tables had closed off, too.

Mr. Coral Hair held up his hands, rising from his chair. “Hey, hey, hold on a minute, let me talk to the young woman.”

Elmira scoffed against her better judgment.  

“Your loss,” his mate muttered.  

He waved him off, sauntering around the table to her, adjusting his jacket. He was taller than her, slightly rounder around the middle, and could probably hold a fight if he needed to. But nothing about him filled her with confidence.

“You got a ship?” she asked him.  

“Yeah, I do,” he said, shifting his weight. “I ain’t dropping you in the Straits.”

“Then we have nothing further to discuss.”

“Hang on,” he called, sliding in front of her. He took her arm and started leading her to a quieter part of her room. His voice dropped. “No one in their right mind drops in the Straits. You’re going further than that and you don’t want to tell them. Fine. I happen to plan a run up the river of fire,” he continued and raised his voice again. “Nothing against the rules for that.”

“You’re a wave runner?” she asked.

“I’m a buccaneer, love.”

She started feeling begrudging respect for the guy, even as she felt his wandering hands searching for a purse he would not find. At least, not where he looked. He seemed to catch on and retracted his efforts with a fleeting grin.

Giving him a once over, she smiled. “I’d love to buy passage. You in?”

“Depends, what’s in it for me?”

Her purse was all too light to buy anything of value in this joint. She stepped in closer, till she could feel his breath on her skin, letting her voice drop to a whisper.

“I can tell you stories of Liana you wouldn’t believe. And I decide I don’t tell them their pockets are empty,” she said watching in satisfaction as he went pale.

“Deal.”

They clasped forearms in agreement, much to the jeers of his peers. Unhooking her arm, he spit in his hand and held it out. Repulsed, Elmira did the same and sealed the deal. Wiping the spit off on her trousers.

“Name’s Tam, what’s yours?”

“El.”

“Tam-El, sounds like a team-up from hell,” he said, almost giddy with excitement, rubbing his hands together.

Fantastic. Elmira forced a smile. If Tam was the best she could do, she’d just have to weather it.

About an hour later it turned out that it was too good to be true. Elmira rolled her eyes as the green-haired man picked himself off the floor next to her. The burly orc guy who tossed him growled, eyes glowing red. Something common amongst his species when pissed off. Elmira couldn’t really blame him.

Once she’d imparted the importance of speed upon the fickle man, they arrived at the port, only to find that Tam’s ship had been impounded. Nothing about Elmira’s travel companion surprised her anymore.

“Aw, come on, man! You’re making me look back in front of the lady.”

“Not my problem,” he growled.
“Please, Uri, I’m sure we can come to some sort of understanding?” “You’re a weasel and a thief, Tam, you lost.”

“Allegedly,” Tam replied, wiggling his finger at the guy. “Technically, the bet never went ahead.”

“Technically, I can bash your head in,” Uri said, taking a threatening step forward.

Even Elmira backed off. For reasons she would never understand, Tam turned to her with the maddest grin.

“I can win it back,” he said. “Trust me!”

Worst of all, he truly seemed to believe it.