Chapter 13

"AIDA," Chris called out, his voice still shaky from the sudden transition. "Where are we?"

The AI's familiar tone provided a small comfort in his disorientation. "Scanning... We are currently located in Xhan Tarn, approximately one hour's walk from Harbor City."

Chris ran his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of it all. Xhan Tarn? He'd read about this place in passing, but why here? Had Obel'jon simply dropped him at random back on Solaris, or was there some greater purpose he couldn't yet see?

The reality of his situation hit him like a physical blow. He was alone. For the first time since arriving in this world, truly alone. No Violet by his side, no demon princess to guide him through the strangeness of Solaris. Instead, she was... He couldn't even complete the thought.

His throat tightened as memories flooded back – her smile, her strength, the way she'd roll her eyes at his Earth references. Now she was possessed by an ancient evil, her body stolen by the very being they'd sought to contain. His fist clenched until his knuckles went white, fighting back tears that threatened to fall.

The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, pristine sand meeting azure waves. To his left, nothing but open shoreline. To his right, distant structures broke the horizon line – civilization, or at least the promise of it.

"Harbor City lies approximately 5.2 kilometers in that direction," AIDA offered helpfully. "Current weather conditions are optimal for walking."

As Chris started toward the distant city, a troubling thought stopped him in his tracks. Krauser's words about time flowing differently in the Void Realm echoed in his mind. If time moved faster there, then how long had passed here on Solaris? Days? Weeks? Months?

His pace quickened involuntarily. He needed to reach Elyndaar City, needed to find out what had happened in his absence. Maybe Harbor City had a portal room – they seemed common enough in major settlements.

Every step brought memories of Violet. Why had she pushed him aside? His barrier might have held, might have protected them both. But she'd chosen to sacrifice herself instead, and now...

A sudden, searing pain shot through his skull, dropping him to his knees in the sand. Warm liquid trickled from his nose – blood, bright red against the pale sand. Whatever Obel'jon had done to his mind, whatever vast knowledge he'd supposedly implanted, it felt like trying to pour an ocean into a teacup.

"Vital signs indicate severe neural stress," AIDA reported with concern. "Recommend rest and—"

"I'm fine," Chris growled, pushing himself back to his feet. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, leaving a rusty streak across his skin. The "gift" of knowledge felt more like a curse at the moment, locked away behind walls of pain he couldn't breach.

He resumed his trek toward Harbor City, which grew slowly larger on the horizon. Each step was accompanied by the gentle sound of waves, a peaceful backdrop that felt like mockery against the chaos in his mind and heart.

The sun beat down on his shoulders as he walked, but he barely noticed the heat. His thoughts were a storm of questions without answers: How much time had passed? Where would Bahumura take Violet's body? Why had Obel'jon chosen him, of all people, for whatever cosmic game he was playing?

And beneath it all, one question burned hotter than the rest: How could he save the woman he loved from one of the most powerful beings in existence?

Harbor City's structures grew clearer with each step – buildings of stone and crystal rising from the coastline like the bones of some ancient sea creature. Somewhere in that city, he hoped, lay the first step toward making things right.

Even if he had no idea what that step might be.

***

The cobblestones of Harbor City's entrance path wavered before Chris's eyes like heat mirages. Each step became harder than the last as pressure built inside his skull, transforming from discomfort to agony in seconds. The last thing he saw was a group of sailors rushing toward him as the world tilted sideways and darkness claimed him.

Dreams came in fragments – Violet's face transforming into darkness, Obel'jon's knowing smile, Lucia's laughter echoing through creation. Then quiet darkness, punctuated by voices he didn't recognize and the sensation of being moved.

He woke to the soft chime of medical equipment and the sterile smell of antiseptic. Sunlight filtered through gossamer curtains, casting patterns on white walls that seemed to shift and pulse with his heartbeat. The bed beneath him was surprisingly comfortable, though his head still felt like it might explode at any moment.

A nurse appeared almost immediately, her uniform an elegant blend of traditional medical wear and distinctly Solarian aesthetics – crystal accessories that seemed to monitor vital signs, and fabric that somehow adjusted itself for optimal patient comfort.

"How are you feeling, sir?" Her voice carried professional concern as she checked the crystalline displays beside his bed. "You gave quite a few people a scare at the gates. The guards brought you straight to us." She gestured to one of the displays, which showed a three-dimensional image of his brain surrounded by pulsing indicators. "There's significant swelling in your cerebral cortex, but Dr. Maren's treatment should help reduce it. We've administered a specialized compound that should ease the pressure."

Chris touched his temple gently, finding the pain had indeed dulled from searing agony to a more manageable throb. But questions burned in his mind, competing with the physical discomfort. What exactly had Obel'jon done to him? This "gift" of knowledge felt more like a curse, pressing against the inside of his skull like an overinflated balloon.

Fresh blood trickled from his nose, and he wiped it away with trembling fingers. The sight of red on white sheets sent a chill through him. "Am I going to die now?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "What the hell did he do to me?"

The nurse had left to attend other patients, giving Chris a chance to assess his situation. Various sensors attached to his chest, temples, and arms fed data to the crystal monitors. He was dressed in what appeared to be a hospital gown, though the fabric seemed to regulate his temperature automatically.

In a cabinet near the bed, he found his clothes and equipment, neatly stored and apparently cleaned. At least the hospital staff had been thorough in their care. His head still pounded, but the urgent need to find Violet – to somehow save her from Bahumura – drove him to action.

Carefully, trying to minimize the spinning sensation in his head, he removed the monitoring sensors and changed back into his clothes. The hospital corridors were quiet save for the occasional passing of medical staff, their attention focused on charts and patients rather than a single man trying to look like he belonged.

His escape took him out into Harbor City proper, and the assault on his senses nearly drove him back to his knees. The salt air carried hints of exotic spices from street vendors, mixing with the sharp bite of spirits from numerous taverns. Sailors and merchants crowded the streets, their clothing styles subtly different from what he remembered, though he couldn't quite place how.

The crowds provided perfect cover as he tried to get his bearings. Harbor City spread out before him like something from a maritime fantasy – buildings of stone and crystal rising from the coastline, their architecture blending practical function with ethereal beauty. Ships of various designs dotted the harbor, from traditional sailing vessels to craft that seemed to hover just above the water's surface.

Captain Tillen's Ale House dominated the city center, a massive three-story structure that seemed to pulse with life even in the afternoon hours. The building's wooden facade was weathered by salt air and time, adorned with intricate carvings of maritime scenes that seemed to move in the corner of one's eye. Through the wide-open doors, the sounds of laughter, music, and life spilled into the street.

Inside, the sensory assault was almost overwhelming. Hundreds of voices competed with music that stirred something in Chris's memory – the sweeping, adventurous melodies reminded him bizarrely of Pirates of the Caribbean films from Earth. Dancers performed on raised platforms throughout the space, their movements enhanced by subtle magical effects that left trails of light in their wake.

The tavern's interior was a maze of dark wood and brass fixtures, illuminated by crystals that cast a warm, inviting glow. The air was thick with the smell of ale, pipe smoke, and something sweet he couldn't identify. Sailors, merchants, and locals packed the tables, while serving staff navigated the chaos with practiced ease.

Chris made his way to the bar, its surface polished to a mirror shine by countless elbows and spilled drinks. The barkeep – a burly man with intricate tattoos that seemed to shift on his skin – approached with the expectation of an order.

"Just need to know the date," Chris said, already anticipating the man's reaction.

The barkeep's friendly expression soured instantly. "Year 152," he grunted, turning away to serve paying customers.

Outside again, Chris leaned against a building wall, his head spinning with more than just Obel'jon's "gift." Something about that number nagged at him.

"AIDA," he called out quietly, "when did Violet and I enter the Void Realm? What year was it?"

The AI's response seemed to take longer than usual, as if double-checking its own records. "Year 102, according to my last temporal marker before entering the void."

The implications hit him like a physical blow. Fifty years. Half a century had passed while he wandered the Flow with Violet. His legs nearly gave out as he processed this information. People he'd known – Drake Raven, Gremlock, the others – would have lived entire lives in that time. And Violet... she'd been possessed by Bahumura for fifty years.

A nearby merchant, noting Chris's obvious distress, offered helpful but devastating context. He spoke of recent events – an attack by something called the Awakened Grovekin, a being named Shaogog defeated through the combined efforts of Dakon and Valmir, and a war initiated by someone called Queen Yasmine. History that had happened while he drifted through the void, but it was good to hear the Valmir had made it back and lived on. Apparently Dakon had awoken as well.

The merchant directed him to the portal room, a modern structure that reflected fifty years of architectural advancement. The mechanoids guarding it were far more sophisticated than Chris remembered – their movements more fluid, their forms more elegant, their sensors presumably far more advanced. Yet they operated with the same procedural precision he recalled from before.

The journey to Elyndaar City took mere moments, the portal technology apparently unchanged in its basic function despite the passage of time. He emerged into a city that struck him as a perfect metaphor for his situation – fundamentally familiar yet filled with subtle changes that made it feel almost dreamlike.

The central tower still dominated the skyline, its crystalline surface catching the light in ways that created rainbow cascades down its length. The mechanoid guards at its base – even more advanced than those at the portal – scanned him with invisible sensors before granting access to the elevator.

As the elevator carried him upward, Chris's mind raced with questions. What would he find at the top? Was Drake Raven still alive, let alone in charge? And more importantly, what damage had Bahumura done in Violet's body over fifty years? Was there anything left of her to save after so long?

The elevator continued its smooth ascent, each floor passing marking another moment closer to answers he wasn't sure he was ready to hear. His head still throbbed from Obel'jon's "gift" of knowledge, but now a different kind of pain competed with it – the crushing realization that while he had spent what felt like weeks in the void, the world had moved on without him for half a century.

The elevator slowed as it neared the top floor, and Chris steeled himself for whatever he might find. Fifty years was a long time, and he had a lot of catching up to do if he was going to have any hope of saving Violet – if there was still a Violet to save.