Naph crashed over the side of a massive bed. “Agh!”

  Rubbing his aching left, he looked around the room. To him it looked more of a hall than a room.

  Then the shock of instantly opening his eyes in a brilliant lit environment vibrated through him. “AHHH!” His palms ran to his eyeballs. Covering them wasn’t enough, so he rubbed them.

  “Huh,” it was a prepared voice. She continued, “so, why are you so driven for Sevenren?” The one who spoke kept the water jug back on one of the tables, “You were never born in Confederation of Tarna. Right, Anaphol?”

  He did hear a sequence of sounds.

  The one who had spoken it walked out of the room. “Find me when you want to talk. I’ll be in the room next door.”

  Naph grunted due to his aching side. “What?” He was so confused.

  Lying at the floor for near to half an hour letting his body get itself together. Phantom exhaustion that clung to him sipped itself away one breath at a time.

  His gaze finally opened to his surroundings, no more shock from sudden brightness. As he looked, the first thing he noticed was the night through the window. The lone darkness that crept inches in to the room brimming with brightness. Naph sat up.

  ‘The floor,’ he rubbed his palm over the carpet, ‘it’s better than any.’ He found himself wearing a different set of clothes. A buttoned cream shirt and a brown pant with belt buckled. Not fidning his neon jacket on him, he jumped to his feet. Naph scanned the room for it.

  From his right, he saw three doors. One detailed more than the others, the intricacies on it weren’t abstract shapes but a story. Or at least a part of it. That was the biggest door out of the three. Out of the other two, one seemed translucent while the other painted white he believed.

  The carpet below him stretched corner to corner leaving no space for the ground to show up. On his right however, his old clothes including his neon jacket laid there on the bed he fell from. “That’s like four times the Outro Restro,” he tested his quip.

  He himself wasn’t satisfied.

  Wearing his neon jacket and checking the two inner pockets, he began exploring the corridor the room was part of.

  Anaphol opened several one after the other looking around for anyone someone. Even the one who was in the room with him earlier, for her he checked the room in front of his.

  No one was there. Not a single soul in the corridor. Only one other door he found was open, it was the door next to his. And because it was open he did not check it.

  “No one obviously leaves a door open, at least the door is pushed to its… ,” he thought of what it is the door attached to. “Wood?”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Walking out of the corridor, he reached the intersection of passages. “Whomsoever that was, why did they garble some noise together? It did not sound even close to what the others in the grand hall spoke.”

  Swinging the thought of her, his eyes suddenly widened. “Bulwark!”

  He scrambled back to the corridor and to his room. He missed it and walked into the only room left open after his exploration.

  A woman in her young adult years laid on the mattress that equaled in its size to the one Naph fell off. His eyes fell on her feet first and went up the curves faster all so he could know if she is Bulwark.

  She wasn’t.

  Naph had walked in on a lady wearing her sleeping garments. “Tch,” he turned around sounding, “I am sorry.”

  She called out, “Finally, you are here.” She began sitting up.

  Naph was halfway to the door as he said, “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

  The lady hid her snicker behind a hand. “Oh my, you haven’t figured out! So it is true you have never went to a school or any sort of education.” Her giggle reached Naph.

  “Uttering random pleasing noise does not mean you speaking,” Naph believed he had found his quipping back for the day. He spun to face back.

  His heart yet weighed heavier. The embers of the phantom exhaustion danced within.

  The lady’s laugh became more. She walked over to him and tapped him on the chest. Then with her fore finger she curled it back and forth indicating to him to follow her.

  “Finally something!” His hands flew sideways straight in either direction after tapping his head’s crown with both hands.

  Her leading the way, Naph followed out of the corridor to the same intersection of passages.

  The lady flung her long hair back she was braiding, letting it cascaded down her back. Naph kept after her.

  “Hey, say something! Name? Where are we?” Naph attempted his best. “Why am I with a mute?”

  The lady understanding him perfectly said, “Good Hirto, let’s see how long it takes you.”

  She stood near to the center of the intersection of passages and pointed back to Anaphol and then to the tiles in the center.

  A chilly wind sneaked up on Naph with him walking toward what the lady signaled to. “Ooh ohh ooh!” His teeth clinked for split. “Ahh.” He whispered.

  Coming closer to her, the round intersection, a small dome in its own right opened up above and below. Rather than the two falling down, stairs appeared. More so they let their existence be known.

  The tiles the two were on were the only ones that did not vanish. The passages had their floor only upto where it connected into the intersection.

  The lady bowing lifted her right arm to a staircase. Naph understanding nodded. “Ah, the mute and the hunter.” He bobbed his head.

  She kept a smile knowing everything he was saying. She had studied Tarna’s culture and languages.

  Ascending it, both reached a new wing. So she once again led him through another passage. Three or more times Anaphol gave a dry joke to cut through the time.

  Before his fourth they stood in front of a wide double doors. It too had a story drawn over it.

  Opening it, the lady guided him in.

  As soon as he stepped in and looked around. He found a stone block wide as a bed and his ride next to it.

  On it? Was Bulwark.

  The boy ran.

  The lady called out, “Welcome to the preservation wing of Plora’s wing.” Suddenly Naph could understand her, more so it seemed to be comprised of the same sound sequence as he and many others spoke in Confederation of Tarna.

  Striding after him, “I am a descendent of Plora. Inri Plora.” Coming close to him as he stopped in front of Bulwark’s headless body, she asked. “So Naph have you ever heard the term language? And do you know even in Tarna there are multiple languages?”

  Naph opened, “No?” He corrected, “I did not know there were more languages. I know the term language. Not-”

  “And did you know the only reason you could understand everyone in the grand hall this morning was because the grand hall translates all languages?” Inri Plora interrupted.

  Naph’s eyes began widening.