There, in the distance, is a rustic little village made of humble bricks and whitestone. I keep my pace slow yet steady — the rest of the team are still pretty close by, but I can’t reach them unless I speed up into a run. As long as I keep following, though…

Anis looks back and I give her a thumbs up to let her know I’m fine. She turns around and skips away further into the village, taking Leon and Vita with her. Okay, okay, I guess I’ll let them go ahead… but not for long…

On shaky legs, I stumble through the marble arch that demarcates grassland from village, resting a weary hand on its columns.

Marble? Arch? Columns? Where the fuck am I?

I rub my eyes and look around. 

Now, thanks to the merger, all the cities back home are feasts for the eyes, but… this place is… it’s like something out of a storybook. Or a history book. 

Buildings stand shoulder-to-shoulder and jut out at all different angles, bending like they grew out of the ground instead of being built; they reach into the sky, blooming into structures more column than layer. Light fixtures sprout like sunflowers on every sidewalk and effloresce into intricate whorls. Banners of every color sway in the wind in the spaces between buildings, hanging in arcs like pearl necklaces around rich ladies’ necks. I can’t see a single blank wall — they’re all covered in murals. Every column, tile, lintel, pediment; each and every one of them has something on it, each and every one an installment in this oversized art gallery. Even the ground is covered in art — the mosaic tiles beneath my feet are museum-worthy on their own, depicting scenes of what I assume are important events in the town’s history. 

The shops are the usual fare of eateries and an open-air marketplace, broken up by squat, broad-shouldered apartments and other little stores. In the far back, a huge structure with a triangular roof looms over everything; it could be a museum, but that’s me speculating. 

I’ve heard of many “medieval” worlds like this one, but hearing about is nowhere near seeing in person. My eyes itch like someone poured a bucket of gold glitter into them — the village sparkles in the afternoon sunlight, and it feels almost as intense as the headache I got when entering through the gateway. 

Village? Nah, actually, I’d say it’s more a town or city. There’s more people roaming the streets than I could shake a stick at. Kids of all ages play in little groups, couples stroll in the late afternoon light, old people sit at benches, and students hang out around places that I think are selling food, judging by the delicious scents wafting in the air. Yeah, it’s nowhere near the numbers of people at the cities back home, yet it feels just as lively.

You’d never be able to tell this world needed saving. 

There’s a man in the town square, standing alone in front of a large statue, motionless as everyone else passes him by. Even though he’s surrounded by other works of art, his long golden hair still catches my eye. He turns to face us, and the slight movement ripples through those golden waves like wind over the ocean.

He looks at us; first at Leon, then Vita, Anis, and finally me. 

When he looks — he sure does look. He has dark, charismatic eyes with a pull like twin black holes, set in a fair, smooth face. Where other people would have highlights I only see my reflection, and when I stare too long I feel the sensation of hopping between worlds — like being pulled apart from limb to limb.

Damn! If I didn’t see that broad-shouldered build and huge golden armor, I would have never guessed he was a guy. He’s probably got a good set of muscles under there, too, if he has to wear so much armor for so long. Maybe if the merger goes through we’d be able to work out together.

By the time I stop thinking about hitting the gym, the rest of my team has already surrounded him, ready to engage in conversation. I rush over just as they exchange intros.

“My name is Guillemagne Lysandrios de Lothaire, the protector of this land. And you are?”

One by one, the other members of the team introduce themselves to him.

“Leon.”

“Vita.”

“Anis!”

Guillemagne The-What’s-His-Name bows when they’re all done. “My pleasure to meet you all.” Then he sees me running over to catch up. Luckily, he offers me a handshake too. “And you?”

“Michael Clark.” I take his hand gladly. “Mike for short.” 

That firm yet painless grip, the chiseled jawline and those pale, ethereal eyelashes… Oh, man, he’s even more of a model up close. But how am I gonna tell him any of this if I don’t actually know how to say his name?

Well, nothing for it. I get it out as best I can. “Sorry, that name of yours is kind of a mouthful. Can I just call you, uh… Lysander?”

He releases me from his grip. “I suppose you can,” Lysander says, a twinge of hurt in his voice.

“What’s the problem with this world, Mr. de Lothaire?” Good ol’ Leon cutting straight to the point.

“Problem?” asks Lysander. Recovering from the shock I caused him, he moves swiftly onward to Leon’s question. “Ah, you must be the emissaries of the god I contacted. I apologize for not escorting you here personally. Were you hurt in any way?”

“Not at all, Guil!” Anis chirps, fully in her element. “Why’d ya ask?”

Lysander shakes his head. “A mere habit. Ever since I defeated the Demon King, life has become much more peaceful… yet, monsters still roam the wilderness outside town. If you had encountered a monster unarmed, and perished as a result…” He clenches his fist. “I could never forgive myself.”

“Appreciate your concern, but it’s unnecessary. Tell us why you called.” Leon, again, goes right into it as always.

“Did you not receive the reasoning? My prayer—”

Anis leans in closer to Lysander as if he’s whispering a secret that she can’t quite hear. “Of course we did, but just put it in your own words, Guil~” 

“Then, how should I put it… this world is crumbling at the edges. Yesterday, I was traveling back from the Imperial Capital when I encountered a patch of… nothingness. It was as if a piece of the world had been ripped away. I had never seen anything like it before — and worse, it looked like it was spreading.” 

His world is dying. It has to be. Empty patches are usually the first sign of a world’s death; we’re lucky he reported this in the early stages, otherwise it’d be too late —

“Pray tell, is there any way to nip this problem in the bud? I cannot bear the thought of being unable to stop… whatever it may be.” Lysander puts a hand on his chest. “If there is no way to fully eradicate it, then at least tell me there is a way to halt it temporarily, I beg of you…”

Vita butts in before too long. “There is a way, Guillemagne. First, you have to explain how and why you called for us.”

“How and why? I, well… my apologies for the rudeness, but do you really not know?” A look of wide-eyed shock flashes onto Lysander’s face; his jaw hangs slack for a moment, then he purses his lips. “You are the emissaries of the Patchwork God, are you not?

Anis giggles. “Yep, we are, but… the big man up top doesn’t give us all the details most of the time. He’s funny like that.” 

“Oh. How curious.”

“Anyways, Guil — why were you the one who called for us? Where’s your king or emperor or whoever runs the place?” Anis turns to either side as if she’s expecting a monarch to pop out at any moment.

“The King resides in the Imperial Capital, Madam Anis; nowhere near this stinking backwater town…” Lysander hisses out the last few words. “He’s no more than a figurehead, a puppet ruler of a dying state. Even before I defeated the Demon King, he was a good-for-nothing spineless wretch… but I thought it was the Demon King’s presence that kept him that way. Now, most of the affairs of state are presided over by the lesser nobility, in conjunction with the king’s advisor… it’s no way to live. That man — no, those men… I can’t trust them at all. I would never dare breathe a word of the world’s collapse to them, they who stood by while I did all the work—!” 

Poor guy’s working himself into a frenzy. I imagine him frothing at the mouth as steam pours out his ears, but the sight of his perfectly shaped teeth tells me he’s probably too good for that. Those teeth remind me of pearls, sitting in the fleshy oyster of his mouth, except instead of smelling like fish they're scentless. The rest of him smells a little like roses, though. They’ve got roses here too?

In the end, Lysander manages to compose himself, running gauntlet-enclosed fingers through his glossy golden hair. “Excuse my outburst… I shouldn’t be revealing my personal grievances. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Help?” I fumble around for words to say. “You, uh, still haven’t told us how you got into our systems. Usually it’s the other way around. How’d you do it?”

“Ah… a friend of mine helped me pray to your Patchwork God. Before she informed me of his existence, I only knew of the Goddess — but now that his presence is confirmed through you, I may as well switch religions! The Goddess is long-dead, after all, and only traces of her power remain vested in the Saintesses under her…”

“Who’s your friend?” Leon inquires.

“Only a Saintess! An odd one, but a Saintess nonetheless; she was abandoned at the edge of the woods outside by Goddess-knows-who… our village Saintess back then found her, a pendant in her tiny hands; a pendant that nobody could recognize the make or medium of, and she was holding onto it for dear life.” Lysander mimics a grasping motion. “But, in any case, I followed her advice and prayed to your god.”

“I see.”

“My sentiments must have surely reached you, right? I do not often pray… but I imbued all my passion into prayer…” 

“Afraid not. It showed up as an incomplete merger request — from a source outside our systems.”

“A ‘merger’ request?” Lysander narrows his eyes. “Apologies, what do you mean by that?”

Hm, maybe the translators couldn’t find an equivalent in his language.

Vita jumps in with a snappy explanation. “The term refers to one world’s incorporation into another in a mutually beneficial agreement. Due to the nature of our work, we require the requisite paperwork to be filled out before one of these can be conducted.”

“What an unusual religion… though I suppose that rigorous procedure has its benefits?”

“There have been no deficiencies observed so far, Guillemagne.”

Lysander sighs; a breathy, wispy sound. “I shall leave my care in your capable hands.”

“How about we go ahead and fill the form out right here?” I say, readying my electro-clipboard.

“Yes, do tell, what's this ‘request’ missing?”

I rattle off the format I’ve used so many times before. “Name, reason… usually a signature…”

“I’ve provided everything but the signature, so that should be the only thing remaining, no?”

“No, the form turned up completely empty.” I show him the clipboard screen. Empty. “Just tell me your details and I’ll fill it out for you.”

“Alright…”

He stands beside me and looks over my shoulder while I type everything in. His breath is warm on my neck. “It’s ‘Guille’… um…”

“Guillemagne Lysandrios de Lothaire.”

Yeah, I’m not even gonna bother saying it back. “Okay,” say I, inputting it to the name field. “Your reason for submitting the request?”

“To save my people.”

“Almost done. Sign here.” I hand over my stylus and point him to the signature entry box. 

Lysander signs his name in flowery, fancy script that I can’t read. “Is this—”

“Come on and send it already,” Anis whines, “we need to know what the Big M’s gonna do! I’m at the edge of my seat!”

She’s right, we really have to hurry up. I take back my stuff from Lysander.

My stylus hovers over the “Submit” button. Lysander’s — no, his world’s fate is in my hands. Well, only part of it. All I have to do is press that big shiny button; whatever comes next is out of our control.

I hit the button and wait.