Perry stumbled through the forest after the boy, panting and doing his best not to trip over his own feet. His right foot throbbed with each step, reminding him with every step of the cart door and the fire. The shackles around his wrists clanked as he ran, the rusty metal chafing his skin raw.

"Wait," he gasped out, his lungs burning. "I need to stop."

"We cannot," the boy called back over his shoulder. "They will find us."

Perry's legs felt like lead, and his stomach churned dangerously. He'd never been particularly athletic, and running for his life through unfamiliar woods was proving to be more of a workout than he'd planned on when he woke up that morning. A branch whipped across his face, and he let out an undignified yelp. Perfect, just what he needed. 

"Please," he managed between ragged breaths. "Just... one minute."

The boy glanced back, seeming to notice for the first time how close Perry was to collapsing. He slowed his steps, then stopped next to a large tree. "We shall rest here, but only until we catch our breaths."

Perry doubled over, hands on his knees, trying not to vomit. Sweat dripped down his face, sticking strands of his hair uncomfortably against his neck and forehead. "Where... where are we?"

"Just outside Millstone Town," the boy said, scanning the trees around them. At Perry's blank look, he added, "The one closer to the Eastern Capital, not the one down south."

"Right. Of course. Just out of curiosity, how far are we from downtown?" Perry ran through his mental files, trying to remember if he knew any Millstone Town. Had a new hipster neighborhood popped up?

The boy frowned at him, but before he could answer, they heard the sound of boots crunching over leaves. Without a word, the boy grabbed Perry's arm and pulled him behind a thick cluster of bushes. Perry forced his breathing to slow down even as his heart pounded in his chest so loudly he was sure the entire forest could hear it. The footsteps passed nearby, but didn't seem to be heading in their direction. 

Perry's ears rang as they waited and waited to see if the coast was really clear. 

"I am called Myran," the boy whispered once the footsteps faded. "There is an inn not far from here. A family friend runs it. We can rest there, get some food." His eyes traveled over Perry's jeans and beige polo shirt with the Lucky Fries logo. "And maybe find you some proper clothes."

Perry looked down at his outfit, now covered in dirt, blood, and what looked like soot. Still, the familiar fabric and the psychotic-looking french fry brandishing a cowboy hat were oddly comforting in the middle of all of that strangeness and insanity. Given a choice, he'd keep them, mystery stains and all.

"I'm Perry. Nice to meet you." Perry extended one hand toward Myran, but the boy just blinked at his hand, and then at him. Perry lowered his hand, feeling a little silly. "Never mind."

This was not the time for shaking hands and sharing pleasantries. Survive and find somewhere safe to rest, that's what they needed to do. And hope like hell the drugs wore off soon. 

They waited until the sound of the steps had completely faded into the background noise of the forest. Only then did Myran gesture for him to follow as he slowly rose from their hiding spot. 

"It is this way. Not too far."

The shadows hugging the branches and trunks of nearby trees lengthened and covered the ground in front of them as the sun started to set. Perry's brain did a double-take at the pink and orange colors streaking across the sky. How was it so late already? Was this also part of his hallucination, or had he somehow missed an entire day passing by? 

Myran tugged on him when he noticed Perry wasn't following, and Perry instinctively yanked his arm back. "Sorry," Perry mumbled automatically. 

Myran faltered. "No, I apologize. But we must keep moving."

"Right. Of course." Perry sounded like a broken record. 

He forced his feet to move and for his body to keep up with a boy who looked way too experienced in picking his way through a darkening forest for someone so young - Perry was almost sure he was at least nine. Or ten. Possibly eleven. His muscles protested every step, but if he stopped, he knew he'd probably not get back up again. So he kept on moving. 

The sun was sinking toward the horizon by the time they reached the inn. It was a modest two-story building with weathered wooden walls. Through Perry's exhaustion, he saw a few people standing or walking around outside, all dressed in what looked like simple clothes that would have been all the rage anywhere from 500 to 1000 years ago – Perry had never paid much attention to History class, and fashion wasn't really his thing. 

Robes of different lengths and colors, fitted jackets with high collars, and cloth or leather shoes seemed to be the dress code around these parts. Some people wore thicker-looking jackets with lots of brass buttons. And while he stared at them, they openly gawked at Perry. It took him a moment to realize that his clothes were the odd ones out. 

Perry felt more and more like he'd stumbled onto a movie set. Except the pain in his foot and the weight of the shackles were far too real. A chill wind cut through his shirt as Myran led him toward the inn's entrance. He did his best to act and look normal, crossing his arms and trying to hide his shackles. People still gawked at him. 

Warmth surrounded him as they crossed the threshold into the inn, and Perry exhaled heavily. The interior was dimly lit, and while the main room was simple, it felt welcoming and homey, with tables where a handful of customers sat eating, drinking, and talking. A fire burned in a genuine stone hearth, and the smell of some kind of stew and sizzling meat made Perry's empty stomach clench and his mouth water.

Myran gestured toward a closed wooden door that Perry assumed separated the main room from the kitchen. They'd almost reached it when a man stepped into their path, forcing Perry to take a step back. He wore a crisp blue jacket with brass buttons and silver trim. His white pants were just as crisp and spotless as his jacket. Perry didn't have lots of experience outside of what he saw in movies and TV shows, but his posture seemed military-straight. He also had a very fancy-looking sword strapped to his hip, so there was that. 

"Your Highness," the man said, bowing deeply after blinking several times and eyeing him up and down. "What are you doing here? Why are you like this?"

The man gestured at the shackles Perry had unsuccessfully tried to hide under his armpits and stepped closer to him.

Perry froze. The conversations around them died away as heads turned in their direction. Myran had gone very still a few steps ahead of where he stood.

"I... what?" Perry croaked.

The man straightened, his eyes widening slightly as he took in again Perry's torn and stained clothes. "Your Highness, you don't remember me?" He frowned and looked almost hurt. "It is I, Captain Orryn of the Royal Guard. We met some time ago in the Palace and we spent a long night… discussing political affairs." 

Perry blamed his slowness to react on all the smoke he'd inhaled back when the cart was on fire. 

"I… no, you have me confused." Perry shook his head and his hands, the shackles clinking and drawing every eye in the room like a magnet. He mentally cursed himself and tried to hide them again. Why hadn't he asked Myran if they could get rid of them before he followed the boy into the woods? 

The hurt look on the Captain's face morphed to horror, and he stepped even closer. "Your Highness, are you well?" His hand tightened on his sword hilt. "What have they done to you? Who dared to shackle you?"

Perry opened his mouth, but no words came out. The room seemed to spin slightly, though that might have been from exhaustion and hunger. Or the smoke. Or the drugged coffee still making its way through his system. 

Your Highness? Royal Guard? He looked down at his dirty clothes, his shackled wrists, then back at the man's concerned face.

"I'm not who you think I am," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm not... I'm just..."

But he couldn't finish the sentence. Just what? Just a guy who'd been pulled through a magic mirror, thrown in a prison cart, rescued by sword-wielding wizards, followed a strange boy through the woods - even though that was clearly a set up for a trashy horror movie and he would later berate himself for that-, and was now standing in what looked like the set of a strange costume drama?

The guard's expression hardened, his gaze locked on the shackles. "Who did this to you? Tell me, and I will personally ensure they pay for this insult to the crown with their lives. I shall personally bring you their heads."

Perry imagined a paper bag with the Lucky Fries logo filled with round objects and dripping red. His limbs went numb, and his face went cold. He felt the weight of every eye in the room poking at him. Myran had backed away, looking between Perry and the guard with eyes the size of saucers. The smell of cooking food, the warmth of the fire, the low murmur of shocked whispers, the gruesome mental image of heads inside a paper bag – it all pressed in on him at once.

His legs, which had been quietly protesting and threatening to give out since they'd arrived, finally made good on their promise. The last thing Perry saw as the world went dark was the man in the fancy uniform lunging forward to catch him.