Dawn in Auremelion/1

The air here smelled wrong. It smelled of ozone and coal dust.

Ilyar pressed his back up against a wooden crate, his chest heaving, his ears pinned down against his head. Moments ago the hare had been gathering roots in the warren tunnels, and now he was… somewhere else. Somewhere unfamiliar. He remembered hitting cold, wet cobblestones. He remembered fleeing for the nearest shelter, this rotten old warehouse. The rain still hammered through the broken roof, pooling on the concrete floor. The wind howled through missing windowpanes, chilling his wet fur and assaulting his nose with industrial stench. He pulled his legs up against his chest, shivering.

Somewhere behind him, he heard the door latch click. Huddling up at the edge of the crate, he lifted one ear to listen. Footsteps. Two sets. One with a sharp rhythmic click, one with an irregular thump. Ilyar held his breath.

“Drift readings are off the charts, Sol,” came a voice, sonorous but gruff. “We’re near the epicentre, I think.” The speaker sniffed. “It stinks like the void in here.”

Another voice spoke, softer but crystal clear. “The rupture has closed, but only just. The ozone has not yet dissipated. We may not be too late.”

Ilyar poked his short grey-furred muzzle around the edge of the crate, and saw the strangest creatures he had ever seen. One was a tall, elegant figure, a coati, with shimmering violet-white fur that didn’t seem to hold its colours. They wore long, flowing robes in pristine white, layered across their body with calculated elegance. They looked frosty.

The other figure appeared to be a raccoon, or something like it, in light brown hue. Their long unkempt tail bore jagged, asymmetrical bands of dark brown on light, and poked out from a long brown overcoat which almost met the floor. As they turned, examining the room, he could see the raccoon was wearing a waistcoat, shirt and trousers under the coat. Finishing off the strange ensemble was a boater hat, perfectly cylindrical, tied with a ribbon of deep, impossible blue. They were resting their weight on an umbrella, regarding the warehouse with a suspicious eye.

Ilyar took a breath, careful not to make a sound, but as he exhaled he saw a wisp of condensation curl out past the edge of the crate.

“Did you see that, Sol?” asked the raccoon, pointing the umbrella just above where Ilyar was hiding. He scooted back quickly behind the crate, panicked. “I think we have an audience.”

“A drift-shadow? It could have come through the rupture,” said the coati, and Ilyar felt a crackle of static in the air. “We cannot let it leave. You flank right, I will flank left. Be careful, Bentley.”

Ilyar’s fingers dug hard into his knees. The threat in the coati’s voice broke his paralysis. He slammed his paws into the concrete and bounded for the metal gangway round the ceiling.

“Hey! Wait!” called the raccoon, but Ilyar didn’t stop. His hands met the gangway and he swung himself upwards, but lost his grip on the wet metal and tumbled over the side.

The air below him suddenly thickened, billowing around him into a solid cushion. He hung there, suspended in mid-air, and his eyes met those of the coati who was manipulating the air around him. He let out a high, terrified squeal, the sound of trapped prey.

“What… Easy, easy!” yelled the raccoon, turning to the coati. “Let him down Sol, you’re terrifying him!”

“That is no shadow,” said the coati, gently lowering him to the ground with a calculated motion of their hand. “Living beings cannot pass through such a rupture. It should have dissolved into the void.”

Ilyar touched the wet concrete again and scooted backwards up against a pillar, staring at the two strange beings. His heart pounded out of his chest.

The raccoon approached, slowly, and kneeled a few metres away. Ilyar eyed them cautiously. Their eyes looked… warm. He noticed a gentle amber glow in them.

“Hi,” the raccoon said, their voice softer and quieter. “You’re not in danger, whatever you are. I’m Bentley. The stuffed shirt over there is Solivane. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Ilyar’s nose twitched. The raccoon smelled of warm soil and wet fur. There was a note of something floral behind it, something oddly calming. He relaxed his grip on his legs just a touch.

“My… home,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “The ground… broke.”

“I know,” Bentley said, his expression softening into sadness. “It’s gone. I’m sorry.”

“Am I… dead? Is this the beyond?”

“No,” replied Solivane. The coati came closer alongside Bentley, static sparks rippling through their fur. “You have fallen through a rupture. You are safe. I do not understand why you are here, however.”

“Come on Sol, you say that like he’s just crashed your birthday party.” Bentley gave a quiet chuckle and turned back to Ilyar. “Look kid, we don’t know how you ended up on the floor of an abandoned old warehouse in the Docklands, but you’re here now, so we may as well get acquainted. What’s your name?”

Ilyar hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between the two. “Ilyar. My name is Ilyar.” He untensed his shoulders just a little, as if giving his name was an acceptance of this strange place. “Where am I…?”

Bentley stood and, spreading their arms wide theatrically, grinned. “Welcome, Ilyar, to Auremelion, city of dreams! Well, someone’s dreams, anyway. Mine are more interesting.”

“And dangerous,” Solivane added dryly. Bentley ignored them.

“So… what happens now?” Ilyar asked, quietly. He relaxed his tall, twitching ears, though the rush of the wind still troubled them.

Bentley looked at Solivane, who took what seemed to be a brass pocketwatch from their robe and examined it. “We cannot leave him here. The seam is still radiating, he will get drift-sickness.”

“Well then,” said Bentley, turning back to Ilyar and extending a golden-furred hand. “I guess you’re our problem now. Come on, we’ll get you somewhere warmer and safer than here. Marginally, at least.”

Ilyar looked at the hand. He looked down at the root-fibre bracelet on his wrist, and the rough, tarnished tin crescent moon sigil hanging round his neck, all he had from his world except the memories. He looked back up at the two strange, powerful figures before him, and he understood he had little choice. He took Bentley’s hand, and as he did he felt a strange sensation shoot down his arm and through his core - a feeling that he was suddenly part of a story much bigger than him. He pulled himself to his feet, dusting off his torn tunic and grasping his crescent moon. The three creatures made for the door.