— Fable II —
— Threshold —
"What are we?"
The words shattered the heavy air like a stone through still water.
Anor'ven's voice was quiet.
Almost hollow.
But sincere.
He stared at his hand — still faintly trembling, though it should not have.
The connection had left a mark deeper than flesh.
Asveri, still sitting on the cracked pavement, looked up slowly.
His eyes were wide, overwhelmed.
The question hung between them.
Unanswered.
Maybe unanswerable.
Neither spoke further.
Instead, they stood.
Their legs felt stiff.
The world felt wrong.
Around them, the city hummed.
Tall iron towers stretched toward a pale sky.
Pipes hissed quietly.
Lights flickered weakly, casting neon glows on worn metal streets.
Vehicles rumbled in the distance — half-machine, half-beast.
People walked past.
Dressed in coats and strange goggles, speaking languages foreign to their ears.
No one paid them much attention — until they moved.
Asveri stumbled slightly as he tried to steady himself.
Dust clung to him.
His clothes were torn and stained.
Anor'ven was no better.
They both looked like remnants — out of place and far too silent.
That, finally, drew eyes.
Shouts.
Uniformed figures approached quickly — guards, by the look of them.
Sleek helmets, steel-gray coats, mechanical rifles slung across their backs.
Their leader spoke sharply.
— "[You two, stop right there!]"
Asveri froze.
He glanced at Anor'ven — who remained unmoved.
— "[This district is restricted. Identification, now.]"
The words meant nothing to them.
Anor'ven said nothing.
Asveri, a bit nervous, stepped forward and raised a hand slightly.
— "Uh… we're just passing through. Where are we?"
The guards didn't understand.
Their faces shifted — confused first, then slightly annoyed.
— "[Foreigners? Without permits?]" one muttered.
— "[Look at them. Clothes all wrong. They don't even speak Standard.]"
Another scoffed.
— "[Low-born vagabonds, probably. Can't even afford speech implants.]"
Asveri blinked, confused by their reactions.
He tried again, slower.
— "Listen… we don't want trouble. We just—"
— "[Enough.]"
The captain gestured firmly.
Two guards stepped forward and grabbed both Asveri and Anor'ven by the arms.
Asveri flinched, caught off guard.
— "Wait— what are you—"
The guards didn't listen.
They spoke to each other quickly, almost casually.
— "[Take them to Registration. Let the officials sort them out.]"
Asveri struggled slightly.
— "Anor… they're not listening. They don't understand us."
Anor'ven, still calm, met his gaze briefly.
— "Nor do we understand them."
Asveri's expression tightened.
For the first time, he felt something close to fear.
Not from the guards.
But from the realization that they were, truly, in a world that did not recognize them.
Not divine.
Not special.
Just strangers.
Unknown.
Unwelcome.
Without resistance, they were pulled forward, escorted through the strange streets.
Asveri kept glancing around — neon signs, loudspeaker announcements (all incomprehensible), people wearing devices on their necks whispering in metallic tones.
It was overwhelming.
Yet Anor'ven remained impassive.
Until, just before they vanished into a side gate, Asveri whispered again.
— "Anor… what is this place?"
Anor'ven did not answer.
Not because he would not.
But because, for once — he did not know.