It felt like someone had tried to force a hammer sideways through Tristan’s skull. 

He lay motionless curled up in a ball for what felt like an eternity of pain. 

Eventually his body stopped trembling and the blinding pain was replaced with a dull ache. Tristan closed his eyes and slept. Time passed and he was woken up by something sharp stabbing his lower lip.

He groaned and waved his hand like a drunk person and wings flapped and seagulls squawked and scattered in all directions. 

The tide had come in and water lapped gently against his bare legs. The sun was warm and the afternoon wind was cool, apart from the pain, it felt like the perfect day. 

With much groaning and complaining Tristan stood up on shaking legs. 

“So this is what it feels like to be a pensioner,” he groaned. 

Tristan was standing on a beach in what looked like a scene straight out of a movie. The beach was pristine, there were no plastic bottles floating in rock pools or used condoms half buried in the sand. Even the palm trees looked perfect as they waved lazily in the sun. 

Tristan wiped his bleeding lip and noticed that the blue symbols were gone from his arm. His bathrobes were torn and smelt like seaweed and something pungent he thought could be his own urine.

A large white bird with a long tail that streaked snowflakes flew overhead and with it's passing a cold wind blew across the sand and brought with it the sound of shouting. Tristan stared up at the bird in amazement. The green haired girl's face came to mind and realized that she could have washed up on that same shore. With one painful step after another Tristan stumbled over the soft sand along the beach and towards the voices.

***

When he got close enough that he could hear individual people speaking, Tristan slowed down and moved into stealth mode. He told himself that he wasn’t paranoid, he was just being cautious. So he hid behind a palm tree and moved from tree to tree until he could see the speakers. It wasn't the sailors he saw. It was a group of people his age with bright hair just like the sailors. 

They were playing volleyball.

A topless man with an orange mohawk and inappropriately short shorts jumped into the air higher than a man could jump and struck the ball with so much force that Tristan could feel the impact from his hiding spot. The ball flew over the heads of the players and landed a short distance from Tristan.

“Jayce, you idiot,” shouted a pink haired girl. “You’re fetching that. The court is here, not over there.” She pointed in Tristan’s direction.

“Hey, you can't blame a guy for not knowing his own strength,” said the mohawked man. He flexed his arms. The girl snatched up a handful of sand and threw it at the guy. They both began laughing and throwing sand at each other.

The laughter died when they noticed Tristan standing behind a tree in his bathrobes staring at them.

“It's not how it looks,” he mumbled as he stepped out of his hiding spot and picked up the ball. 

The mohawked guy bowed his head to Tristan, which was strange and the rest of them bowed as well.

“My Lord," said the mohawked guy.

This felt familiar, Tristan thought. He’d had awkward moments before where someone had waved at him and he had waved back only to realize that there was someone standing behind him and they're waving too. So Tristan turned around expecting to see some nobleman sitting on his horse with a rifle over his shoulder and a servant boy running at his heels. 

There was no one standing behind him and the familiar sinking feeling returned when he realized they were making fun of him. 

“Yeah it's a long story,” Tristan said, as he tugged on his bathrobes. “Any of you have a phone I can borrow?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“What you say?” asked the mohawk guy.

“A phone,” Tristan repeated. “I need to call my mom to fetch me. Where is this place? Is there a music festival happening that I don't know about?” 

“What?”

“You know,” Tristan said. “The contact lenses and dyed hair. Looks like I stumbled onto a film set.”

“So, you’re just a commoner?” asked the mohawked guy.

“What. Yes,” said Tristan. “Just common but I am lost. Can you guys help me or not?”

“Why didn't you say so, hoa. Throw the ball?"

Tristan realized he was still holding the ball. He’d never been sporty. He’d never even entered a gym before but the ball felt comfortable in his hands.

The distance to the mohawk guy was about a quarter the length of a football field so Tristan took a step forward, took a deep breath and threw the ball as hard as he could, hoping it would reach and he wouldn't make more of a fool of himself. 

The ball shot out of his hand and blurred as it arced through the air and hit the mohawk guy right in the stomach. The ball dropped into the sand and the mohawk guy let out a loud grunt as he stepped back to get his balance. 

“You got a good arm on you, hoa,” said the mohawked guy in a winded voice.

Tristan opened and closed his hand feeling energy rippling down his arm.

Tristan walked towards the group and some of them backed away from him.

“Is this some elaborate prank?” he asked. “Am I on TV right now? I’ve had enough of crazy for one day. First a dragon and now this. Can someone just tell me what’s going on?”

“You saw a dragon?” asked the pink-haired girl.

“Yeah, it sank our boat,” said Tristan.

“Malice,” whispered the girl and she crossed her arms the same way the green haired girl had.

“That's impossible,” said the mohawaked guy. “Malice has been imprisoned for a hundred years. If he escaped we would know.” 

“We were attacked,” Tristan said. “Have you seen a green haired girl? She might have washed up on shore.”

“Did you bump your head, hoa?” 

Tristan shrugged. “I don't know, maybe. I’m not sure about anything anymore.” 

The pink-haired girl shook her head. “Poor guy, he needs to see the magi.”

“You’re just confused,” said the mohawked guy. “Don't worry hoa, Luna can fix that head of yours.” 

***

Mohawk guy spoke constantly as he led Tristan through the jungle. The jungle made up the center of what Tristan discovered was an island. Whenever the guide thought Tristan wasn't looking he would glare at Tristan’s white hair and shake his head. Tristan wanted to ask him if he had something gross stuck in his hair but with all the guides talking Tristan never got a gap to say much.

“The names Jayce Proudfoot,” he said. “What’s your name, hoa?”  

“Tristan Bell.” 

Jayce grinned at Tristan and shook his hand. “Are knee high robes the fashion in Aressea?” he asked with a completely straight face. 

“No they’re too small for me,” Tristan said as he tried to pull them down over his knees.

Tristan couldn't tell if Jayce was mocking him or just making conversation. 

“I’m leaving for the capital soon,” Jayce said. “So it's handy to know what people are wearing.”

“Yeah sure,” Tristan said. Most of what Jayce said made no sense to him so he just nodded and kept his replies short.

Jayce pushed a branch out of the path and flattened it with his foot.

“These things keep growing back no matter how many times we cut them back.”

Tristan nodded.

“You play volleyball?" Jayce asked.

Tristan shook his head. 

“It's a pity we could use a player with your strength. Have you been to the arena at the academy? I heard that every night of the week they have a fight to the death.”

“What academy?” Tristan asked.

“Tempest of course,” said Jayce, giving Tristan an odd look.

Tristan stopped walking and looked around. “Where exactly are we?” he asked.

Jayce snapped back a branch and turned to Tristan. “This is Westwind just west of the Great Divide,” he said. "Where did you say you came from again?”

“London,” Tristan said.

“Very funny,” said Jayce. “I wouldn't joke about something like that.”

“It's not that terrible really,” Tristan said. “Beats Birmingham at least.”

“Yeah sure,” said Jayce. “Except for the hordes of walking dead you mean.”

“You’re not wrong,” Tristan said with a lopsided smile. Finally, Jayce was making sense. “But when you’re a kid, home is wherever your parents move you, you know what I mean?” Tristan asked.

“Dragon’s balls,” said Jayce. “You’re being serious?”

“We can't all live on an island paradise,” Tristan said defensively. 

“You must have bumped your head harder than I thought,” said Jayce. “A bit of advice, don't mention London around the village people wouldn't understand.”

***

They reached the crest of a small hill and the village came into view in the valley down below.

“Welcome to Westwind,” said Jayce with a broad grin on his face. “The best village in the whole of Umbra.”

“What’s Umbra?” Tristan asked.

“You know, hoa,” said Jayce. He stretched his hands out and swirled them around. “The world.”

Westwind was a village of about twenty thatched huts.  It was built on the bank of a river on one side and the edge of a forest on the other. Trees were scattered between huts and on the corner of every red bricked street. The largest building which drew most of Tristan’s attention sat on the furthest side of the village. It was a giant shell that looked like a strawberry and vanilla swirl ice cream. 

All Tristan could think as he looked down on the tiny village was. ‘There’s definitely no wifi in this place.’

Jayce, mistaking Tristan's depressed look for awe, smiled proudly. 

“Was born and raised here,” he said.

A group of fishermen bringing in their catch for the day bowed their heads to Tristan as the two men entered the town. Tristan, thinking the bowing was the custom of the island, bowed to each person that looked at him. 

Eventually Jayce, growing frustrated, turned to Tristan. 

“Why are you bowing to everyone?” he asked.

“Fitting in,” Tristan said.

“They’re bowing to you because they think you’re someone important.”

“Must be the bathrobes,” Tristan said sarcastically.

Jayce introduced Tristan to some of the locals who had gathered to see their strange visitor. 

“This is Grenlock,” he said, gesturing at a weather-beaten fisherman wearing a beanie and clutching a bucket of what looked like fish guts in his hand.

The fisherman wiped his hand on his dirty shirt and offered it to Tristan. Tristan shook the extended hand and cringed as his own hand came away wet.

“Good to meet you, me Lord,” said the fisherman as he tipped his beanie at Tristan and bowed again.

“He's no one important,” Jayce said to the fisherman.

His words hurt, but Tristan smiled and bobbed his head like he was proud of being called a nobody.

Most of the people he met had names that sounded like they came straight out of a computer game or fantasy novel.

“Is this one of those live action role playing games?” Tristan asked a girl named Astoria. 

He’d read about them online. People dressed up in them and pretended they were elves and fought each other with latex swords. It sounded amazing, thought Tristan.

The villagers smiled weakly at Tristan and looked at Jayce with a look which Tristan understood to mean ‘who the hell is this guy and why is he ruining our roleplaying immersion?’ Which was a fair point, thought Tristan. They had clearly spent a lot of money on outfits and creating the whole aesthetic of the village.

As they passed through the marketplace a pair of pink haired kids snuck up on Tristan and touched his bathrobes and spun on their heels and ran away giggling. This started a game where the village kids dared each other to touch his robes whenever his back was turned to them. 

The game which started off as annoying became really awkward when an old lady joined in and copped a feel of more than just Tristan’s bathrobes. 

When he spun on her she gave him a toothless smile and battered her eyebrows, then chased the kids off as if she was actually not a creepy old woman and was somehow just trying to help Tristan out.

The group of villagers steadily grew as they made their way through town and all the way to the magi's small hut on the farthest side of the village.

The magis hut was not what Tristan expected. He expected a string of bird skulls or a garland of herbs hanging outside the hut. Instead there was a sign hanging above the door with a symbol of a short staff entwined by two serpents painted on it. 

“So magi means doctor,” Tristan said. 

For a roleplaying game, they really could have used more imagination, he thought. 

“This is it,” Jayce said as Tristan looked up at the sign. The crowd nodded as if they’d helped somehow and Tristan thanked them all which put big grins on all their faces. 

“You’re coming in with me?” he asked Jayce.

Jayce shook his head. “Luna’s inside.” 

Tristan hesitated for a second unsure what to expect and Jayce hit him squarely on the back pushing him through the door and into the magi’s hut.