Night was beginning to embrace Aifaran when a blonde-haired young man appeared in the general vicinity of the Dreaming Bridge. He was tall and lean, but he bore the form of one who was either accustomed to manual labor or combat training. Perhaps both; strapped diagonally across his back was a spear, and his hands were strong, calloused. He was quite cute, too, not that he seemed to realize it; his eyes in particular were lovely, expressive blues nearing gray. And on one ear he wore a small, hook-shaped metal earring.

The area was decorated in greys and blacks, but a wall not too far away had a symbol on it that glowed faintly. Intrigued, Ivarr approached, frowning.

It wasn’t a symbol. It was actually a bunch of letters written too close together, and they spelled Y-A-T-O. Below it were numbers.

He had no idea what any of it meant. Or where in the world he was.