Brushing off a few specks of kicked-up mud, James adjusted his heavy black cloak with a brief, efficient flick of his wrist, smoothing out the dark fabric where the frantic local girl had collided with him just moments before. She had bolted down the narrow alleyway like a startled rabbit, her boots clattering loudly against the damp stone before she completely vanished into the throng of the main avenue.
She was running blind; Andrew's voice resonated clearly inside James's mind. Twin telepathy really is something else, especially when born as craniopagus twins. She didn't mean to bump into you.
James gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, his brilliant sky-blue eyes scanning the empty space where the girl had been. Agreed. It's nothing. We have about 8 hours of daylight left. Focus on mapping the area.
The twins resumed their synchronised, rhythmic stride, moving effortlessly through the shadows of Oros. Conducting a thorough reconnaissance of this strange city was proving to be a tedious lesson in slightly more redundant military operations, especially by American standards. This was all due to the extremely extraordinary atmosphere of the new world; technology simply doesn't work. Circuits short out, and electronically stored data becomes corrupted in a matter of minutes. New vehicles had to be built from the ground up with these constraints in mind, although this was supposed to be a temporary solution.
Their objective was demanding: find and map out a completely safe, defensible path from the bottom of the town all the way up the mountain. Oros was built like a vertical fortress, sprawling upward in a sequence of highly terraced districts that hugged the steep, unforgiving incline of the mountain slope. The architectural layout was chaotic and defensive. The buildings were constructed from thick, whitewashed stone that reflected the intense sunlight, giving the entire area an unnecessary level of brightness that strained the eyes. These structures were topped with sharp, dark slate roofs that overlapped tightly like the scales of an ancient reptile. The streets themselves were narrow, winding, and deliberately designed to bottleneck any invading force, acting as natural choke points where a small group of soldiers could easily hold off an entire army. At the absolute centre of the lower district, rising high above the mismatch of primitive stone and thatched roofs, was some sort of elaborate tower. It was a massive, faceted crystal spire mounted securely on a distinct stone clocktower-like structure, currently pulsing with a vibrant, emerald-green light that cast a strange hue over the bustling avenues below. To the twins, however, it was merely a perfect geographical anchor point to coordinate their hand-drawn maps.
As the afternoon bled away, the blinding orange glow of the sun began to slowly sink below the mountain peaks, fading into a deep, blood-red hue that cast long, eerie shadows across the whitewashed stone walls. The frantic shouting of the marketplace merchants began to quiet down, replaced by the low, rumbling hum of the townspeople moving in large droves toward the local establishments. The crisp evening air began to carry the heavy scents of roasting meats and strange, unfamiliar fermentations.
The twins, having perfectly memorised the hand-drawn grid map of the town, decided it was time to seek out shelter and gather intel. They steered their path toward a modest, two-storey tavern tucked away near the edge of the lower district. It was bustling with men of all shapes and sizes, and some women too, dressed in all manner of mediaeval armour. Although none of it actually looked anything like that found in any museum on Earth. The outside of the pub was littered with weapons ranging from massive battle-axes, easily the size of a man, to chipped short swords and the most ornate bows. A few people were even tending to their weapons, polishing them and inspecting them in the light that leaked out from the windows that weren't almost completely obscured by wasted customers inside.
Consuming the local provisions wasn't a blind, reckless gamble for the American soldiers. Before their deployment from the mountain base, a thorough medical briefing had been distributed to every soldier on base to memorise. It contained crucial information about some of the local fauna and flora, as well as what was safe to eat. During the first major engagement in the new world, several native corpses had been covertly recovered from the battlefield and transported back to an undisclosed underground black site. The end of the paper was signed off: Dr Morgan Woodward.
The medical findings had been profoundly strange. Structurally, the local people were essentially identical to regular humans, bar one massive exception: their bodies absorbed and emitted a completely foreign form of energy. This energy was detected as a non-deadly but remarkably high-density form of radiation. It set off Geiger counters into a frantic clicking frenzy that maxed out the readable scale, yet it carried absolutely no cellular toxicity or threat to human biological tissue. Secondly, the internal arrangement of their organs was completely mirrored compared to the humans of Earth—a flawless presentation of situs inversus totalis that was assumed to be present across the entire native population. Ignoring this interesting fact, their digestive systems operated on identical chemical principles, meaning the food and drink produced in this world were perfectly safe for human consumption.
James stepped forward, past a bearded man sharpening a knife, and pushed open the heavy oak door of the tavern, the iron hinges groaning loudly as the pair stepped into the warm, well-lit common room. The comforting scent of woodsmoke and stale ale hit their senses instantly.
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Marv wiped down the scarred surface of the heavy oak bar with a damp, grease-stained rag, a wide, gap-toothed grin splitting his thick beard. The tavern was louder than a structural collapse, and that was exactly how he liked it. The money was being tossed onto the counter as fast as the booze was being served, the hearth fire was roaring hot, and the ale was flowing faster than the wretched mountain springs.
Today was a damn good day.
For three weeks, a massive, razor-fanged crag-stalker had been terrorising the lower goat paths, mauling livestock and keeping the local traders on a knife's edge. But just a few hours ago, the town's hunting party had dragged the beast's carcass through the main gates. Its thick, armoured hide was already being salted down in the lower district, and a massive portion of its marbled meat was currently roasting over the spit in Marv's back kitchen, sending a rich, savoury aroma through the floorboards. The members of the party were telling tales about their adventures and the fight with crag-stalker, much to the enjoyment of the people surrounding them, egging them on and pressing for details.
But the hunt wasn't the only reason the regulars were roaring drunk and slamming their tankards together. Word had travelled fast from Kaelen's office: not so little Lyra was going to Valecrown.
Marv chuckled to himself, taking a hefty swig from his own personal mug of amber ale. He was riding a warm, comfortable buzz—just drunk enough to feel generous, but sober enough to keep the till straight. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for the girl. The regulars adored her, even if she was a loud-mouthed, stubborn brat half the time. She had practically grown up running around the lower district, dodging chores, stealing apples from the market stalls, and sleeping off her hangovers either sprawled out on the floor or on a table. But despite her sharp tongue and her knack for finding trouble, she had a good heart. She'd helped fix half the collapsing slate roofs for the elderly folk down the lane, and she could out-drink and out-gamble men twice her size when pushed. To hear that Kaelen had dropped a staggering thousand Prisms to secure her a spot at the prestigious Aurelion Academy... it was unbelievable. A scrappy mountain girl from Oros, heading off to rub shoulders with highborn mages. It was a cause for a proper town celebration.
The heavy front door groaned on its iron hinges, cutting through the ambient noise of the tavern. Marv's eyes instinctively drifted toward the entrance, his seasoned barkeep senses immediately picking up on a shift in the room's atmosphere.
Two men stepped across the threshold. They were built above average at best, sticking out slightly to the scared veteran hunters built like brick walls, yet moving with a strange, eerie synchronisation that made them look less like two separate people and more like a mirrored reflection. They wore heavy black cloaks, their hoods pulled back as they crossed over the threshold, but beneath the fabric, Marv could spy odd, tight-fitting tunics patterned with a bizarre, mottled green pattern.
Feeling the festive spirit of the night, Marv slammed his rag onto the counter and bellowed a hearty welcome. "Welcome, travellers! Come inside, out of the damp air!"
The strangers didn't answer, but they began steering their way toward the bar. Marv didn't wait for them to ask for a menu. He grabbed two heavy wooden mugs, pulled the tap handles until foam threatened to spill over the rims, and slid them expertly across the polished countertop right to the newcomers.
"On the house, boys! You picked the perfect night to stumble into Oros!" Marv pointed a thick, calloused thumb toward the back kitchen. "We've got crag-stalker roasting on the spit, and the ale is flowing free for the hunters! Plus, we're sending off one of our own to the capital! Young Lyra—Kaelen's ward—is going to Valecrown! A thousand Prisms for the tuition; can you believe that? The old man must have emptied every vault between here and the coast!"
Marv rambled on, his alcohol-fuelled enthusiasm carrying his voice over the tavern's din. He gestured to their strange cloaks and their stiff, rigid posture. Throughout the entire one-sided conversation, the two strangers just stood there. They didn't touch the ale. They didn't smile, blink, or look around the room. Their sky-blue eyes were locked onto him, cold and unmoving. Every now and then, they would give an identical, slight tilt of their heads, followed by a slow, perfectly timed nod. It felt entirely polite, yet completely vacant, as if they were just playing along with a game they didn't know the rules to.
Leaning his massive forearms against the bar, Marv squinted at them, his boozy grin faltering just a fraction. He raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger at the twin sitting closest to him. "So, what's your story then? Where hail you from? You don't look like lowcountry merchants, and you definitely aren't wearing the colours of any rangers I know. What brings you up the mountain?"
The man he was speaking to didn't flinch. The stranger looked him dead in the eye, his expression completely flat and expressionless. He looked from the man's unblinking face to the identical brother sitting right beside him. The realisation hit him through the fog of the ale. Outlanders.
"Ah," Marv muttered, a knowing smile returning to his face as he wiped his hands on his canvas apron. "Outlanders. Real deep-border folk, eh? Well, why didn't you just say so? Hold on a moment, boys. Don't go wandering off."
Marv turned around, bending down to rummage through a dust-covered, iron-bound lockbox he kept tucked away beneath the lowest shelf of spirits. It was where he kept the junk left behind by eccentric travelling merchants, broken trinkets, and oddities bought off low-tier scavengers for a few copper pieces.
After a bit of clinking and scraping, his fingers wrapped around what he was looking for.
He straightened up and tossed his findings onto the wooden bar. It was a pair of cheap, poorly made necklaces constructed from frayed, stiffly waxed string. Hanging from the centre of each rough cord was a small, raw-cut gemstone that glowed with a faint, cloudy violet hue—low-grade, chipped translation stones, the exact kind border authorities and scouts used to parse basic speech with travellers from the uncharted fringes.
"Here," Marv said, gesturing to the necklaces with a welcoming wave of his hand. "Put these on, friends. Let's try that introduction one more time."
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James and Andrew looked down at the two chipped, violet gemstones sitting on the scarred wood. A wave of silent confusion passed between them.
What's his angle? Andrew's thought was sharp and instantaneous.
Unclear. They're necklaces of some sort, a gift perhaps? Why would he give us a gift? James replied mentally.
They looked up simultaneously, their unblinking sky-blue eyes fixing on the barkeep. Marv simply chuckled, wiping his hands on his canvas apron before making an exaggerated upward motion with his palms, gesturing for them to lift the cords and place them around their necks.
Reluctantly, moving with that same eerie, mirrored synchronisation, the twins reached out, picked up the frayed, stiffly waxed strings, and pulled them over their heads. The moment the stones rested against their chests, a low, subtle hum resonated in their ears. The chaotic, melodic syllables of the tavern's ambient roar suddenly shifted, reassembling in their minds into flat, perfectly comprehensible English.
Marv leaned his massive forearms back against the bar, his wide, gap-toothed grin returning. "There we go! Let's try that introduction one more time. Welcome to Oros, lads! Like I was saying before you put the stones on, you picked the absolute perfect night to stumble in. The town's hunting party just dragged a massive, razor-fanged crag-stalker through the main gates after three weeks of terror on the paths. We've got its meat roasting right out back in the kitchen. On top of that, the whole room is roaring drunk because we're sending off young Lyra—Kaelen's ward—to the capital! The old man dropped a staggering thousand Prisms for her tuition at the prestigious Aurelion Academy in Valecrown. A scrappy mountain girl from the gutters, heading off to rub shoulders with highborn mages. It's a cause for a proper town celebration!"
The twins stood perfectly rigid, their postures mimicking textbook military bearing.
"Understood," James said, his voice flat, mechanical, and stiff. "I'm James. This is Andrew."
"A pleasure," Andrew added, his tone an exact carbon copy of his brother's.
Wasting absolutely no time on pleasantries, the twins immediately shifted to their primary objective.
"We require information," James stated directly, completely ignoring the untouched wooden mugs of ale on the counter. "How is this settlement run? Who holds supreme administrative and tactical authority?"
Marv blinked, his boozy grin faltering just a fraction as he looked at their cold, expressionless faces. The raw, clinical nature of the question made him naturally cautious, even through the warm fog of the ale. "I'm sorry, come again? Run? Well... Kaelen handles the town hunting and the hunters' guild. The local watch enforces the peace across the terraced districts. But why ask about administrative business? You outlanders are real tight-lipped. Where did you say you marched from? And what's your business up the mountain?"
Give nothing away; Andrew signalled internally.
"We are long-range scouts," James replied vaguely, his face an unmoving mask. "Conducting a routine terrain reconnaissance."
Marv squinted, leaning in closer. "Reconnaissance for who? Ain't no trading guilds operating out of the deep-border fringes dressed in that odd, mottled green pattern. Are you two military?"
"Our jurisdiction is distant," Andrew provided stiffly, offering just enough formality to stall further probing. "We mean no hostility to Oros."
Marv stared at them for a long moment, searching their unblinking eyes, before letting out a slow grunt, seemingly satisfied enough by their rigid honesty. The twins opened their mouths to finally ask for a local guide to map the high paths up the mountain slope, but the words were completely cut off.
A sudden, violent explosion of shouting erupted from the dark corner of the tavern directly behind them. The sharp clattering of wooden chairs slamming against the stone floorboards echoed through the common room. A heated argument among the heavily wasted patrons had rapidly dissolved into aggressive pushing and shoving. The twins instinctively tightened their heavy black cloaks, attempting to completely ignore the civilian dispute to maintain their low profile.
Then, chaos broke loose.
A massive body was hurled forcefully backward out of the scuffle, slamming directly into the twins' solid, brick-wall frames. The unexpected momentum, combined with the crowded, uneven floor, caught them off balance. They crashed heavily to the stone tiles and wooden floorboards.
By the time James and Andrew pushed themselves up, the entire tavern had erupted into a frenzy. The absolutely wasted crowd immediately formed a tight, suffocating circle around the open space, completely cutting off all paths to the exit. The twins found themselves trapped inside the ring alongside two other figures: a massive mountain of a man wearing heavy leather under-armour and a young, dishevelled girl.
James's sky-blue eyes locked onto her face. It was the exact same frantic local girl who had violently collided with him in the alleyway just hours earlier. She didn't seem to recognise them through the haze of the room, her attention entirely fixed on the giant in leather.
"Get back! Clear the space!" Marv's voice bellowed from behind the bar, desperately trying to calm the crowd down. But his commands were completely drowned out. The wasted patrons began stomping their heavy boots and clapping their hands, chanting a rhythmic, guttural war cry that shook the room.
The twins quickly stood up, their eyes scanning for a tactical retreat. They moved toward the edge of the human ring to leave, but several burly hunters stepped forward, blocking their path with crossed arms.
"No skipping out!" one shouted over the noise, forcing Andrew back toward the centre. "You're a part of this now!"
The giant in the leather under armour turned his bloodshot, drunken gaze toward the twins. In his inebriated mind, anyone standing near the troublesome girl was an accomplice. He let out a low, animalistic growl. Despite the massive amount of alcohol sloshing in his system, his movements were frighteningly accurate. He stepped forward, putting his entire weight into a brutal, sweeping hook aimed directly at James's jaw.
Dodge right, Andrew transmitted.
With fluid reflexes, both twins nimbly dipped beneath the trajectory of the massive fist, the wind of the swing whistling past their ears.
As they pulled back into defensive stances, a sudden flash of light illuminated the dim tavern. To their left, the girl raised a small glass bottle, chugging its contents in a single, desperate gulp. She slammed the empty bottle to the floor, which bounced across the floor before being crushed beneath the stomping of feet of the crowd, her eyes widening as her bare hands suddenly began to glow with an intense, unnatural heat. Before the twins could even process the visual anomaly, she thrust her palms forward. A baseball-sized sphere of roaring, vibrant fire erupted from her hands, tearing through the air and striking the giant directly in the chest.
Boom.
The ball of fire exploded on impact with a sharp crack, unleashing a small concussive blast that forced the massive man back a step. The front of his leather chest plate was instantly engulfed in a thin, crackling layer of active flame. The man didn't panic; he cursed loudly, using his thick, calloused hands to swiftly swat and beat out the fire before it could spread across his alcohol-covered under armour any further.
James and Andrew froze for a fraction of a second, their unblinking eyes meeting in absolute, profound semi-shock. They had read the medical briefings about high-density radiation and foreign energy variants absorbed by at least half the local population. They had heard the wild, unverified frontline rumours of magic from the first engagement. But seeing an active, weaponised thermal manifestation generated purely from a biological organism was entirely different.
Reality set in.
I suppose rumours do hold some truth to them; Andrew's telepathic voice was dead serious, stripped of all analytical detachment. Threat levels are unknown. We end this now.
Agreed, James replied. Neutralise the primary target immediately before secondary anomalies occur.
Operating as a single tactical unit, the twins went completely offensive, moving simultaneously against the large man. They closed the distance before the giant could fully recover from swatting out the flames on his chestplate.
What followed was pure, relentless close-quarters combat. The twins utilised their superior agility and smaller size to evade the giant's powerful swings, ruthlessly dividing his attention. James stepped inside the man's guard, delivering a lightning-fast sequence of precise strikes first to his ribs and then to the back of his right knee, a death sentence for anybody on the receiving end. The giant roared, swinging wildly, but Andrew was already there, deflecting the heavy forearm away and countering with a surgically precise strike to a specific nerve cluster at the base of the giant's neck. A sudden, high-pressure strike to the primary nerve centre.
The giant's eyes instantly rolled back into his head. His massive limbs went completely slack, his central nervous system short-circuiting under the perfectly executed pressure point. He collapsed forward, his heavy body hitting the floor with a massive, echoing thud that shook the nearby tables. The tavern went dead silent. The chanting stopped instantly.
The heavy silence in the tavern was absolute. James and Andrew didn't lower their guards. In perfect, mirrored unison, they slowly turned their heads, casting a cold, calculated glare around the perimeter of the tightly packed human circle. Their sky-blue eyes scanned every face, searching for the slightest twitch of a hand toward a blade or any subtle shift in posture that would signal someone coming in to avenge their fallen comrade.
Nobody moved. The aggressive, alcohol-fuelled bravado of the tavern patrons had completely vanished, replaced by an overwhelming wave of collective shock. Everyone—from the hardened hunters to the oldest regulars—just stared at the two strangely dressed outlanders, completely dumbfounded. They had just witnessed a man who could easily wrestle with mountain beasts get systematically disassembled and put to sleep in less than twenty seconds, without either twin even breaking a sweat.
Standing a few feet away, Lyra was staring at them in utter disbelief, her mouth slightly agape. The residual warmth of her fire magic still cast a faint orange glow on her palms, but her mind was reeling. She had seen her fair share of brawlers in the lower district, but nothing like the mechanical, terrifyingly synchronised efficiency of these two men.
Marv was the first to snap out of the collective daze. Clapping his massive hands together with a sound like thunder, he shattered the tension. "Alright, clear out! Show's over, you miserable sots!" his booming voice barked across the room as he stepped out from behind the bar. "Back to your tables and your stools before I cut off the ale taps for the rest of the night! Move it!"
The crowd scrambled, muttering in hushed, awestruck whispers as they hurriedly retreated back into the shadows of the common room. Marv sighed heavily, shaking his head as he walked toward the twins, opening his mouth to offer his deep thanks and an apology for the chaotic trouble.
Just as he stepped forward, however, his sharp eyes caught a movement out of the corner of his vision. Lyra was keeping her head low, trying to quietly slip backward into the dispersing crowd to avoid the impending fallout.
Marv moved with surprising speed for a man of his bulk. He reached out, his thick fingers unerringly locking onto the top of Lyra's ear.
"Ow! Ow! Marv, let go!" she winced loudly, her tough-girl persona instantly fracturing as she was firmly hoisted onto her tiptoes.
Without a shred of pity, the large barkeep dragged her directly in front of the twins. "You stay right here," Marv grumbled, releasing his grip but keeping a stern, towering posture over her. "Look at them. You apologise to these gentlemen right now, Lyra. They just saved your stubborn hide from getting thoroughly thrashed, and you repaid them by nearly setting my tavern floors ablaze."
The twins looked down at the girl, their expressions completely unmoving. Wanting to cause no further stress, James looked up at Marv, his voice maintaining its flat, mechanical rigidity. "Don't worry about it."
"It's really nothing," added Andrew.
Before Marv could even respond, the twins stepped past them toward the massive, unconscious body on the floor. Moving with effortless, coordinated precision, James grabbed the giant by his heavy leather shoulders while Andrew lifted his boots. They quietly carried the massive man across the room, depositing him carefully onto a long bench in a dark, unoccupied corner of the bar so he could sleep off the neural short-circuit.
With their business concluded, the twins walked back to the counter and calmly took their seats on the stools they had occupied originally, acting as if the entire life-or-death struggle had been nothing more than a minor administrative disruption.
Behind them, Marv turned his full, unbridled wrath back onto Lyra, his voice dropping into a harsh, fierce lecture that echoed clearly over the quiet hum of the room. "What in the depths of the lower valleys is wrong with your head, girl? You are supposed to be preparing for the capital! Kaelen emptied his vaults—one thousand Prisms—to give you a future, and you're still acting like a feral gutter rat throwing brawls over a card game! Your behaviour is completely unacceptable, young lady. I'm going straight to Kaelen's office first thing in the morning and telling him exactly what happened here tonight."
Lyra's defiant posture completely deflated. The fierce, fire-wielding girl vanished, replaced by a meek, panicked teenager. "No, Marv, please! Don't do that!" she begged quietly, her voice desperate as she wrung her hands together. "If you tell Kaelen, he'll lock me in the archive room until the carriage arrives, I swear to you! He'll make my life a living hell before I even see the gates of Valecrown. Please, just don't tell him. I'll clean the kitchen; I'll scrub the floors—just don't tell Kalean. Please."
Marv stared down at her for a long, agonising moment, letting her stew in the fear of her guardian's wrath, before giving a sharp, dismissive wave of his hand. "Go sit in the back. And stay away from the ale."
"Thank you, Marv," she muttered meekly, casting one last, lingering glance of profound curiosity at the backs of the twins' cloaks before quickly scurrying away into the shadows of the rear hallway.
Satisfied with the disciplining, Marv let out a long breath, smoothing down his stained canvas apron as he walked back over to the bar where the twins sat. He picked up a clean rag, his jovial demeanour returning, though it was tempered by a newfound, deep respect for the two men.
"Again, I can't apologise enough for that, gentlemen," Marv said, shaking his head. "Oros folk get a bit wild when the hunt succeeds, and alcohol makes them think they're invincible. Now, where were we before the sky started falling? You had some questions that needed answering, is that right?"
"Correct," James nodded stiffly. "We require a competent guide with extensive topographic knowledge of the mountain layout."
Marv's gap-toothed grin stretched across his beard, and he pointed with a thick finger toward the dark corner booth where the giant was currently snoring. "Well, funnily enough, your best current bet is right over there, currently recovering from your handiwork. That massive lump of meat is Bram."
The twins shifted their gaze toward the corner, listening intently.
"Bram's been a high-trail pathfinder and ranger for going on about fifteen years, I fancy," Marv explained, his tone serious. "He knows the Wyrmtooth mountain range better than anyone alive in this province. He's a stubborn, hot-tempered brute when he's got a few pints of ale in his system—as you clearly found out—but there ain't a better survivalist or tracker to guide you through the blind spots. Once he wakes up and clears the cobwebs out of his head, he'll owe you a debt for not breaking his ribs. I'll make sure he guides you up the mountain safely."
"Brilliant. We'll take him." Said the twins in perfect unison, making Marv shudder and tingle at the uncanniness.
With the mission resolved, James reached down and gripped the heavy wooden mug of ale sitting on the counter. Since their intelligence briefings had been thoroughly verified—confirming that whatever the locals consumed were perfectly safe—he raised the mug to his lips, taking a controlled, methodical swallow. Andrew followed his brother's movement in perfect, synchronised timing, taking an identical sip from his own tankard.
As the night wore on, the initial, suffocating fear in the tavern gradually began to soften. The patrons didn't dare approach them aggressively, but the twins had instantly become the undisputed point of interest for the entire establishment. From the surrounding tables, groups of hunters and locals began to look over with quiet, profound admiration. Every now and then, a burly miner or a trader would raise their cup from a distance, nodding respectfully toward the two mysterious, stone-faced men in the black cloaks. Something has to be the centre of attention for the night.