Being pulled out of your body was a strange feeling. It was like someone was tugging on your shirt from behind, except the shirt was you, and the threads of your essence were being stretched and stretched until they finally just … snapped.

That's how Kyle would have described the sensation, if he'd had anyone to speak to – or a mouth, for that matter. After the “snap,” he had the sensation of traveling at an unthinkable speed, as flashes of bright colors dashed by on the edges of his consciousness.

Then he stopped. Hard.

The ground rushed up to meet him, and he had just enough wherewithal to feebly extend an arm to brace himself. The impact still hurt, though, and his head was ringing – he had a head now, thankfully, though it was confounded on all sides by light and sound, fire and lightning. Hard and unyielding as it was, the cold cement of the sidewalk was a blessing, a literally solid indicator that all was right once again.

Or . . . not right. Upon a moment's reflection, Kyle realized that his hand was in contact with wood, not cement. And why could he only feel it with three of his fingers?

Almost as soon as he had fallen, a pair of hands found him and tried to roll him over. In the distance, he heard a voice, and as the ringing in his ears blissfully diminished, he could make out actual words.

“. . . all right? My love! Demitrus! Can you hear me?”

It was a woman's voice, and she sounded concerned. Kyle tried to respond but found that he couldn't yet form words. His mouth felt foreign, his lips unfamiliar, and when he tried to move an arm, it felt leaden and numb.

“Abblaggh,” was all he managed to dribble out, in the attempt to say, untruthfully, “I'm fine.”

He could tell his head was being gently cradled, and as his eyes came to focus, he saw his handler looking down on him. It was indeed a woman in her mid- to late twenties, with straight dark hair that was long enough to cascade onto his shoulder. She had a panicked look in her wide, brown eyes. “It's all right. Don't speak,” she said. Kyle was inclined to take her advice.

“Fo! Come here!” she shouted over her shoulder, in a far harsher voice than the one she had used to address him. Then, gently with Kyle again: “It's all right. I'll take you back to our room.” She carefully set him down and then stood to address someone. Her back was to him; that, and the haze still clouding his mind made her words impossible to make out, but she was clearly speaking to someone, though Kyle couldn't see whom. In fact, he couldn't see anyone on the other side of her at all. She was tall but slender, and if there was anyone there, he should have been able to see them.

That wasn't the only strange thing Kyle noticed as he looked up. A few minutes ago, he had been walking down a street in downtown Baltimore, the late-afternoon sun bearing down on him on a perfect June day. Now, however, he was indoors, surrounded by four walls and a ceiling. One of the walls sported a narrow window, where a few scant rays of sunshine bled through. He felt well enough to prop himself up on one arm and follow the beams, which trailed across the floor just behind a narrow pillar set up in what appeared to be the center of the room. On the floor next to that rested a cylinder made of crystal or glass, about a foot tall if it stood upright, and as Kyle fixed his vision upon it, a red glow from its heart slowly faded away until it was dark.

“Demitrus!” The woman had finished speaking to “Fo” or whoever it was and again crouched at his side. Kyle felt a few ticks better now, and was finally coming to the realization that she was calling him by that name for some reason. He was now sitting up without help and stared at her in silence, focusing on her facial features and trying to determine if she seemed familiar at all.

After a few seconds of his mute reflection, she took the initiative. “Do you know who I am?” she asked. Kyle started to open his mouth, almost as a reflex, but realized he had no answer. “It's me, Elyenor.”

Well, there's one mystery solved, Kyle thought. The woman – Elyenor – brushed the side of his head, as if she could scrape away the fog that had accumulated on his brain.

Surprisingly, it seemed to work. “I – I –” Kyle began. Elyenor seemed to hang on his every word. “I'm going to stand up,” was his less-than-monumental declaration, but it delighted Elyenor nonetheless. He managed to do so, albeit with a welcome helping hand, and finally managed to take stock of his location.

He definitely wasn't in Baltimore any more.

The room was just as Kyle had surmised it from the floor: square-ish, perhaps fifteen feet across, with the one window. An arched entryway was in the wall across from the window, its wooden door swaying slightly in its frame, as if someone had recently passed through. The furnishings were sparse: a few shelves laden with books and scrolls along the walls, and a low desk near one wall, with more piles of papers on and around it. The pedestal in the center, he now saw clearly, was made of a dark wood.

As he stood, Kyle accidentally kicked the cylinder he'd glimpsed before, sending it rolling away. Elyenor gasped and dashed after it, abandoning her support of Kyle, who wavered for a moment and leaned on the pedestal for support. It was only then that Kyle realized that she was wearing a scarlet-hued robe. He looked down at his own body and saw himself clad in a similar way, though in darker colors, blue and black.

What the hell is going on? he thought. Where am I? Who is she? And who is Demitrus?

When Elyenor realized that she had left Kyle to fend for himself, she hurried back to him, propping him up as she set the cylinder back on the pedestal. “I'm sorry. You must be tired. Here, this way.”

Kyle could find no reason to protest. He allowed Elyenor to escort him out the door and into a larger chamber that was even more bare than the room he had just been in. He hardly had time to register the few chairs and a bench therein before being whisked through that room and into another that was clearly a living space. A large bed with thick fur quilting dominated the room, set across from a fireplace in the opposite wall. Next to a wardrobe was a simple table, with a jug and a couple of cups resting upon it, and two chairs next to it. A smaller table was next to the bed, laden with more books and a small candle. Next to the door was a tall brazier, providing light and heat for the room.

It was more comforting than any of the places he'd seen so far, but still looked very austere and primitive overall. Wherever he was, he was pretty sure it didn't have Wi-Fi.

Elyenor guided him to the bed and sat him down upon it. She still looked worried and lingered for a second to make sure he wouldn't spontaneously drop dead. When enough time had passed with Kyle's continuing to exist, she went to the table and poured something from the jug into one of the cups. She offered it to Kyle and he accepted with no small amount of hesitation. As strange as everything else had been so far, he was half-expecting it to be filled with blood, but to his relief, it was only water. “Thank you,” he said, and the simple compliment brought a smile to her face.

As kind and helpful as she had been, Kyle had questions that he didn't think she'd be able to answer. Or perhaps she would, in time, but for the moment, he wanted some peace to try and figure things out on his own. “I'd like to be alone,” he said in a still-unsteady voice. Even those quiet words vibrated in his skull, renewing his discomfort.

Elyenor furrowed her brow, clearly displeased with the request. “Are you sure? Is there anything else I can . . .” Her voice trailed off, waiting for Kyle to fill the empty void. When he didn't, she composed herself, stood up straight and smoothed out her robe. “Of course, my dear. If you need anything, call for Fo. And he will find me, if you have a greater need.” She walked out of the room, but not before casting one last concerned glance over her shoulder as she exited, leaving the door half-open behind her.