Tales of Symphonia © Namco

A/N: So, I've begun the painful and tedious process of rewriting this story while also updating it at the same time. However, I'm only a handful of chapters in. To any new readers, if you are reading and the quality of writing changes suddenly or Eden's behavior seems off, that's why. However, there will likely be more changes as I get more free time.

I'm working on editing them slowly, but this is a lot of work and it's hard to look at writing that I cringe at years later. It's also why some chapters have authors notes while others don't; when rewriting the chapters, a lot of the authors notes got lost. I don't have the energy to go back and replace them so, if some chapters have authors notes while others don't, that's why.

Since this also got erased from all the chapters, I'll put it here. In later chapters that aren't as heavily edited, the beta remains, but for those chapters that it is missing, here it is.

Beta: Synodic

Death is painful.

It sounds pretty stupid, putting it like that, but that's the best way I can describe it.

Painful.

And although I'm not exactly dead yet, the act of dying is also, unsurprisingly, pretty painful. My body screams, burns—everything is wrong and painful and if not for the fact that I'm barely breathing at this point, I'd probably be screaming.

Oxygen mask, needles, hands, faces—everything blurs together as my vision darkens, blurring around the edges as I cling to the bit of life I have left in me. Every breath hurts more than the last; I can't feel anything below my waist, and my hands are unresponsive.

It's cold.

Doors swing, and the flickering becomes worse; spots become larger, dulling out the background of people and drawing me into a world of my own, where there's no light and nothing to see but darkness.

My body is still struggling, but each breath brings more trouble. Copper, salt—the tastes blend together and choke me, clogging my airways and pushing back the small, futile bits of air that the oxygen mask attempts to give me. It hurts.

I try to focus on something other than the sheer amount of pain but no matter how hard I try, nothing is enough.

Midterms. My chemistry exam. The paper I have due in two weeks.

All of them seem so trivial at this point. What was I worrying about? How did I even get here in the first place?

My head aches as I try to recall the details. Everything is becoming weaker, fuzzier, now. The pain hasn't left—rather, it's growing. Fast.

The pain in my chest is suddenly more real than it was seconds ago, like a knife digging into my sternum and ripping out each rib, one by one, before plunging right into my heart. It's so cold.

Something slides into the skin of my arm and almost immediately I'm gripped by a cold, icy grip that tugs at my shredded heart. It comes so quickly that I jerk—or at least I would, if I could. The pain increases to a point where I try to scream, only to choke on the fluids filling my lungs—

It pulls me away from the pain, dragging me into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness that's been lingering right outside my reach.

It's familiar, friendly, and above all a welcomed escape from this painful reality. It takes away the pain and dulls it to the point where it's practically unrecognizable, leaving a loud buzzing that swirls in the empty, dark space above my head.

It grows louder and before I can think it has overwhelmed my senses and lulled me into an endless agony. It continues on and as I drift further and further away from the world, deeper into the pit of darkness surrounding me, I feel a glimpse of touch against my cheek—but before I can react I'm pulled away, further, until darkness is all I know and I stop feeling.

I come to my senses slowly, my entire body weighed down by what feels like a ton. I struggle to open my eyes, my body weak and helpless, and I shakily push myself up, wincing at the harsh sunlight that beats into my eyes—all the way down to the core of my brain, melting nerves and blood vessels as it goes.

It moves to my chest, engulfing and gorging itself with what's there; a rippling pain shoots through my body, obliterating everything it touches—it's like my insides have been lit on fire. My blood burns and with each second the pain worsens until I'm curled into a ball, shaking and completely paralyzed from pain.

'Make it stop, make it stop make it stop—!'

An anguished, pained scream meets my ears and it takes another second before I realize it's my own voice. My heart is beating so hard that I'm worried it'll burst; it slams into my ribs and makes my chest vibrate. The scream continues and I dig my nails into the roots of the grass, nails scratching against the soil as I struggle—I need to ground myself. The pain is too much, too much make it stop please.

My skin is on fire, the pain ricocheting between a boiling and brutal stinging and for the first time in years I feel tears of pain pull from my eyes—are they really tears? It could be blood for all I know—and I'm unable to stop their escape.

I clamp my mouth shut, teeth digging into my lip—the pain is nothing compared to tears leave marks on my face and I'm positive the skin has melted off by now, falling off in chunks of blood and gore, because that's the only explanation I can think of.

Something pushes and I scream again, my voice cracking violently as I writhe in pain, hands uprooting grass and digging into dirt and I—can't—stop it because it's internal; something is trying to escape and enter the real world except it can't.

A sharp ringing meets my ears and I gasp for air, unable to stop the rapidly approaching panic; this can't be real. It can't be real, how could this much pain be anything but a dream?

I realize, in the back of my head, that I can't feel pain in a dream. But that part is so far gone that I don't even recognize its existence. A dream, this is a dream; it's all going to be OK. There's nothing to fear, nothing to be afraid of it'll be over it'll be over soon.

The ringing makes me nauseous and I feel bile in the back of my throat and only through sheer willpower am I able to swallow it back. I can barely move much less deal with what'll happen if I throw up right now. I drag my nails across the ground, toes digging into the fabric of my socks—and the acid dripping from my eyes burns away the remaining strips of flesh on my cheeks.

Faintly, I hear a voice—but a pained whimper escapes my throat as I heave for air, and suddenly someone is there and I flinch. The action sends another wave of pain through my body and suddenly a heaving sob escapes my throat.

"—ight?" The person asks, her tone frantic; I don't catch the first part of their question. "Hey—"

I crack my eyes open, blinking through tears, wishing for the pain to end, for it all to be over—and then, out of nowhere, the ringing stops and I can actually hear.

"Are you alright?" She asks, a frown pulled at her face. I see a flash of concern in her eyes. I grimace.

Gradually the pain disperses, its intensity decreasing as the seconds pass, and eventually it's gone; like it never existed in the first place. The ripping sensation leaves a dull, aching pain in its place. My blood stops boiling.

It takes a good minute before I find the strength to so much as move, my body shaking violently with every motion. My arms struggle to support my body weight and as soon as I'm upright I choke back a sob. The stranger immediately brings an arm up behind my back, in case I fall back.

Although the pain is gone, the memories linger and the tears are anything but. I hiccup, body collapsing forward on itself as I touch my hands to my cheeks, feeling for the muscle that should be there—except all I find is skin.

"Wh—What happened?" I croak, my voice raw from screaming. It's weak. I don't look up yet, still trying to get my breathing under control. "Where am I? Who are you?"

The questions come out a blur, and I swallow thickly, wiping the back of my hands across my cheeks.

"You're a few days walk from Meltokio," she responds. A wave of unease flushes through my body and it's then that I raise my head and look around, finding myself in an empty field. The grass around me is higher than it should be. "I'm Sheena … are you alright?"

She repeats the question, but I focus in on the first part of her sentence—Sheena. Meltokio. Tales of Symphonia.

'What the hell is going on?'

I shakily push myself to my feet, swaying dangerously, before my legs give out on me. Before I can slam into the ground Sheena grabs hold of my arm, helping keep me upright. Her touch sends tremors throughout and I gasp for air, unable to get my shaking under control. After I'm seated she releases my arm, her gaze not leaving my form as she takes her seat beside me once again.

It takes a good minute before I'm able to right myself, my breathing becoming more normal as the seconds pass, and I take another look around me.

Still in the field. Still her—Sheena.

Sheena doesn't say anything, and I finally realize that she's still waiting for an answer to her question. I swallow again, wincing at the pain. "I … I'm fine."

My voice shakes and I swallow again, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Although the pain is gone, there's something still there, rushing through my body and I—don't—like it.

"Are you sure? I heard you screaming … and you didn't look fine when I found you." Although she keeps her voice calm, there's an edge of disbelief. I don't blame her for not believing me.

I shuffle onto my knees, pressing my palms into my thighs and breathing in deeply. Panic is beginning to trickle in, slowly but steadily—and I feel a tremor wrack my body. "I …"

"How long?" I finally ask. Keep calm, just breathe, just breathe it's alright. You're gonna be fine. I dig my nails into the skin of my legs, only now realizing there's dirt caked between the nail and skin. "Was I …?"

Sheena frowns. "Awhile," she replies. "I heard the first scream probably … five minutes ago?" She guesses. "Although it stopped after maybe half a minute … then came back. That's how I found you in the first place. I was pretty close by."

I nod, keeping my eyes fixated on my hands. Don't look at her; maybe if I just … pretend she's not there, she'll go away.

I don't want to look. I don't want to see something that should be impossible.

'Maybe she's cosplaying,' I think, desperately trying to ignore the lump forming in my throat. 'A really dedicated cosplayer, hanging out in an empty field with no signs of civilization.'

If I was alone, I'd probably laugh at that thought—laugh at how ridiculous it is.

My head is pounding fiercely, making it hard to even think—I try to recall how I got here, what my last memory is …

But nothing comes to mind.

Just … blank.

I was biking home, racing my brothers to see who'd have to do dishes and then—nothing.

I choke back a sob, teeth digging into my lip, which I realize is bleeding. Probably from when I bit it earlier.

I need to focus—I can't panic. I can't let it take over.

It's … a process. Thankfully Sheena stays quiet, just watching me, and I force myself to even my breaths out. Will my hands to stop shaking—and then I take the panic and shove it far into the back of my head, locking it away.

Now isn't the time to panic. Not in front of Sheena, not in the middle of nowhere; panic won't help me. It'll only shut me down and that's the last thing I need right now.

I raise my head and focus on the mountain range in the distance. Mountains … I struggle to remember the name of it, but my brain comes up blank.

"I'm … I'm sorry," I finally mumble, after what has to be at least a minute of silence between the two of us.

"What for?"

I breathe in deeply. Calm. I am calm. "For screaming. I must've distract-distracted you from what you were doing." I curse the stutter that worms its way into my voice.

"There's no need to apologize." She pauses. I haven't lifted my head; she hasn't seen what I look like yet and although I know I can't keep it that way, I'm going to hang onto that for as long as I can. "If you don't mind me asking … what happened?"

I shake my head. "I don't know," I admit. "I … was …" I pause, before lying, "walking, a-and suddenly this pain just—" I shudder at the memory, "—it just was there. I-It hurt—it hurt so much, I couldn't even move."

Sheena hums. "Where were you heading? Meltokio?"

I hesitate. How far into the story am I?

Is this before Sheena leaves for Sylvarant, or is it after they've arrived back from Tethe'alla? There's no way for me to tell—either way she'd be alone, and I'd have nothing to go off of.

I can only hope it's first possibility because I don't want to be alone in this world. I don't want to be alone in the field, in the city—because sooner or later it will all go to shit and I will be screwed.

But, at the same time, being here before the main story brings up a whole new variety of problems. Figuring out how to get to Sylvarant in the first place being number one. There's the Pope, Zelos, Renegades, and all the other pre-game things that were never elaborated on.

'Maybe this is all a dream.' I frown. No … it can't be a dream. The amount of pain I was in just minutes ago attests to that. There's no way I could dream that.

Which leaves the question of how did I get here in the first place? You don't just wake up in another world, much less a fictional one, for no reason. It just doesn't happen; not in real life, at least. Only in fanfiction.

And yet, as I stare across the field, I can't deny it. This … isn't a dream. This isn't a dream; this is real life. Somehow, I've ended up in Tethe'alla—in a fictional world from a video game.

But why?

Finally, I nod my head. "Y-Yeah."

"By yourself?" She wonders. "You're pretty young to be traveling on your own. Do you have traveling companions?"

I look down at my hands. Tan skin—this is me. I'm real, I'm here, as much as I don't want to be. I'm sitting next to a fictional ninja who could, if she wanted to, gravely injure me.

Not that I think she would; Sheena was … soft hearted in the game, at least to an extent. But the thought terrifies me.

"I'm alone," I whisper, voice shaking in fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what'll happen to me—I can't afford to be alone in this world, but the only other option is to put myself right in the middle of everything.

Which is worse—having to fend by myself in an unknown world, or fighting for my life daily?

The logical answer would be the second one; but my mind is frantic, scrambling for something to hold onto, something familiar, something safe.

I didn't end up here by chance; that much I'm aware of. Being here … was someone's choice. Someone chose to put me here; it's the only logical explanation, and I doubt they put me here with the intent of having me settle down in Meltokio and watch the world end.

I need to secure myself into the plot somehow. Wherever it is, I don't care—I just need to find someway to get out of here, and my best bet is to stick with the plot. Lloyd gets the Eternal Sword or whatever at the end of the game; that has to be able to do something, right? If it can rip a world into two and then put it back together, who knows what else it can do?

"Well …" Sheena hesitates for a moment before she tells me, "I'm also heading to Meltokio, actually. Why don't you come with me?"

I blink, nearly turning to look at her—I barely stop myself. I dip my head again. Stay hidden. Drag it out as long as you can. "A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah; I can't just leave a kid out here by herself—plus, we are heading in the same direction anyways."

After a long silence, I finally nod.

"What's your name?"

"Eden," I reply. "And you're … Sheena, r-right?"

She nods. "Do you think you can stand up yet?" She asks, and I shrug.

Only one way to find out.

Although my legs shake they keep steady under my weight and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I don't want to sit there any longer.

"We—w-we should go," I say, looking in the opposite direction of Sheena. "It's probably … l-late afternoon, right?"

Sheena frowns. "Right … are you just going to leave your bag?"

I blink. What?

I turn on my heel and find a backpack—not mine, thankfully; that'd be a bit hard to explain—on the ground just a bit away from where I've been sitting. How didn't I notice it earlier?

The action reveals my face to Sheena, though, and her eyes widen in surprise. "Wait—are you from Mizuho?"

I flinch at the word. Mizuho … yet another clue that this is definitely Tethe'alla. Another reminder. I'm Chinese, not Japanese, but I doubt Sheena can tell the difference when the only two (human) races that exist in this game are Japanese and Europeans. Or whatever they're called in this world, since those nations don't even exist here.

"I—…" my words die away, and I struggle to find a response. I'm not the greatest at lying; it's hard enough when I've got my emotions under control, much less when I'm actively fighting off a panic attack. "I … don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" I bend down to pick up the bag, blinking at the weight. I'm tempted to open it and see what's in there, but I resist the urge. That's for later—for when it's appropriate. "It's a simple question; are you from Mizuho or not?"

Her tone has become a bit more sharp, and it only reminds me that I'm dealing with a ninja—an assassin.

I can't lie and say yes; I don't know enough Japanese, and I really know nothing about the culture. There's nothing from the game that I can use as proof. But if I say no, I have to figure out the reason why I look like I'm from Mizuho, and I doubt shrugging and telling her I don't know will pass.

I swallow, clenching my hands into fists and counting my breaths. Don't panic, don't panic. You won't figure out anything if you let it take over.

I can't be from Mizuho … I'm alone. No family, no friends, nothing. If I lie and say my parents are from Mizuho then, even if she calls me out on it, there's no definite proof that I'm lying. It's a weak excuse, but it's still an explanation. I just have to keep calm.

"… No," I say, finally, after my long silence. "I'm not from Mizuho, b-but my parents lived there until—until twenty years ago." I shrug, doing my best to look as nonchalant as possible "T-Then they left."

If I remember right, Sheena's about nineteen; if they 'left' before she was born, she can't really say anything to contradict me.

… That is, until she returns to Mizuho; but if I remember right she's ostracized there because of the Volt incident. Sure there's the vice-chief but, by then … it shouldn't matter, right?

My stomach twists uneasily. At some point in time, this is going to come back to bite me—I know it. But it's the only option I have right now.

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. "They left? Why?"

"I dunno."

Sheena frowns, expecting me to elaborate, and when I don't she sighs softly before relenting. "Do you at least know Mizuhoan?"

I shake my head. I'm assuming Mizuhoan is the equivalent of Japanese, and I don't know enough of the language to be able to speak it. Understanding it … might be a bit easier, but even then I've probably got the vocabulary of a two year old under my belt.

"I'm sorry that I can't speak it," I say slowly, taking care to not stutter or stumble over my words. "I've … I've never met anyone else. F-From Mizuho, that is. Just … my parents. But they taught me …" I fumble, unsure what to call English in this world. "Just … to speak li-like this."

"You mean Common?" I nod quickly. "Ah … I understand. I guess if you're traveling around a lot, it's better to know how to speak Common than Mizuhoan. But still …"

I try to dig the soil out from under my nails. "I, um … I know t-that it's pathetic I can't speak it. But—but my parents … I don't know why they didn't teach me. I never asked."

"Speaking of your parents … where are they, anyways?"

I swallow dryly. Yet another lie. What was it called in the game … the sickness that Raine got … Ozette flu? It's supposed to be dangerous, if I remember right.

" … They're dead," I reply, looking away. "T-The Ozette flu … it got both of them."

Sheena's eyes widen and I wince at her expression, guilt flooding my body. Lying about such a thing … it feels wrong. It is wrong, but I don't have a choice.

"I—… I'm sorry," she apologizes, her voice soft. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

I shake my head, offering a shaky smile. "No, n-no it's fine. I'm … it's … in the past," I manage, unable to bring myself to say anything else about it.

The thought of my parents being dead sends a chill down my spine, but I remind myself that it's not true—it's just a lie. My parents are fine, back on Earth; they're safe. My family is safe.

Sheena drops the topic of my parents and Mizuho after that, telling me that we can still get a another few hours of walking before it gets dark, and I follow after her without another thought on the subject.

Without anything to talk about—Sheena doesn't seem to be one to make small talk—my thoughts begin to wander, back to the blanks in my memory. The panic bristles and I push it back once again, just like I have been. Instead I focus on the burn of my legs, how each step makes the burn more and more painful. The aching pain from earlier still lingers, and every so often a sharp stab of pain rips through my body and makes me breathless. I don't let Sheena know; I don't want to slow her down. I'm probably already doing so by just being here.

"So … if you don't mind me asking," I prepare myself for her question, "what exactly are you wearing?"

I blink, looking down at myself; I'm dressed in the same clothes I was in my last memory. Black shorts and a sweatshirt. At least I'm wearing tennis shoes and not sandals like I'd been planning to.

"Um …" I shrug. "I-It's cheap?"

"Rather counterproductive for traveling, though … especially since wild animals have been getting more and more volatile recently."

I shrug. "My parents bought them for me."

That seems to end the conversation pretty well and I don't even feel guilty this time for using such a topic to shut down her questions.

When the silence becomes too much to handle, I fiddle with my nails. Should I bother trying to make conversation with her? I don't want to be a pest, considering she's already going through the trouble of all but leading me to Meltokio, and the thought of asking in the first place makes me nervous.

I swallow thickly. It's just a question—she won't be mad. There's nothing to be mad about. It won't offend her … hopefully.

"Hey, Sheena?" I begin, my nerves seeping into my voice. "C-Can I ask a question?"

"Hm? Sure, what is it?"

I swallow again, wringing my hands out and clenching them together tightly. Don't panic, you can do this—just ask.

"Why doesn't—don't—w-why don't you have an accent?" I blurt out, stumbling over the words. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting an angry retort or something bad at least. I brace myself for her answer.

Sheena replies, "Oh—I've been taught Common from a young age," she tells me, and thankfully there's no trace of annoyance or malice in her tone. "I'm fluent in both Mizuhoan and Common."

"I-I see." I stare down at my feet. "Um … t-thanks. For answering. Sorry if—if it was rude."

Sheena shakes her head. "Nah, not at all; don't worry about it."

When we eventually settle down for the night I all but collapse, my legs burning from exertion. Despite hours having passed, the pain from earlier still hasn't completely passed, and with the overworked muscles … well, let's just say it isn't a pleasant combination.

Sheena's the one cooking, as expected, and while she prepares everything I take a moment to look through the bag. I pull it off my back and place it on my lap, unzipping the zipper and glancing inside—and then I blink.

There's a single, sheathed dagger along with a large pouch and a rolled up map. Otherwise, it's completely empty, and I frown.

If I hadn't met Sheena … what would I have done for food? Was I supposed to hunt down a wild animal and skin it or something?

'Then again …' I glance over at Sheena. Her fox, Corrine apparently, is seated at her side, and they're talking about something. 'That's exactly what Sheena did.'

I remove the pouch and open it, only to nearly drop it in surprise when I see the massive amount of coins stuffed inside. It's much heavier than I expected it to be, and I quickly snap the clasp back in place and put it away before grasping the dagger.

It's about the length of my forearm, the sheath being made of leather rather than metal like I expected it to be. I don't pull it out yet; I don't plan on pulling it out at all if I don't have to. When I make it to Meltokio … well, I'll buy an actual weapon—and new clothes, since I'll stand out wearing what I am now.

Despite still being frustrated over the entire situation, I send a silent thanks to whoever or whatever threw me here for at least giving me money. I'd be screwed otherwise.

"You're welcome." I shriek in surprise, nearly knocking my bag off my lap in surprise. Sheena looks up immediately, asking if I'm alright, and I stare at her with wide eyes before shakily telling her that I'm fine.

'What the fuck? Was that a voice?'

"Yeah, it was." I don't scream this time, but I do grip the bag tighter, my heart hammering in my chest. My throat is tight with panic—why the hell am I hearing voices? Have I gone insane?

There's a laugh before he answers, "No, you haven't gone insane; sorry for startling you."

I swallow thickly, digging my nails into fabric and squeezing my toes tightly in an attempt to fight off the panic. It's been lurking all day, growing stronger once we settled down for the night, and now it's right there, in my face.

'Who are you?'

"I'm James. I've been assigned as your … handler, I guess would be the best word?"

'Handler? For what?'

"… For this, of course."I frown at that. "The superiors have high hopes for you."

"Superiors?" I mumble. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

I keep my voice low enough so that Sheena can't hear me. James sighs, and I hear him tap his fingers against something a few times before he says, "I can't … explain, right now. I don't have much time, actually; so I'll make this quick."

"Reach a hand behind your neck—carefully," he orders. I do so. "Feel along the left side and be gentle about it."

I oblige, just barely glimpsing my fingers across the skin on my neck, and as I finally feel the left side a chill goes through me and my hand freezes.

There's something hard on my neck; hard and cold. I press my fingers against it again, feeling at the hard … lump. It feels like some kind of stone, with a chain or something surrounding it. My chest tightens and my nails scratch at the spot despite James' order to be gentle with it.

"Wh-What is this?" I whisper, tremors making their way through my body. "What's—what's going on?"

"Don't worry about what it is, just know that it's there." I swallow hard, a sick feeling forming in my gut. "Don't mess with it, don't play with it, and no matter what do not take it off. Your odds of survival are significantly higher with it on than with it off."

I drop my hand and shake my head, wrapping my arms around the bag and hugging it to my chest. No, this is wrong … wrong, wrong, wrong—this shouldn't be happening. This can't be happening.

'Why?' I think, because apparently he can read my thoughts or something considering he replied to me earlier when I didn't even speak. 'Why does it need to be here? Why won't you tell me what it is?'

'Why is this happening?'

"One question at a time," he chides, but his voice is soft. "For your first question; the reason it needs to be on your neck is because it's the closest place to your brain that we can safely place it." He takes a moment to think before continuing, "Question two; I won't tell you because I can't tell you. I'm not allowed. And question three …" he hesitates, before replying, "I don't know why it's happening."

I can tell, from his tone of voice, that he's lying. There's hesitance in his voice; he's uneasy. Unsettled.

It sends a chill through my body. No matter how much I push, I realize he's not going to answer that question—so reluctantly, I let it go. There are more important things to deal with.

"S-So … so I'm guessing you can't get me out of here, right?" I croak, blinking rapidly as tears form in my eyes. I grit my teeth and force them away. "I'm trapped."

"I'm sorry," he sounds genuine. It makes me feel worse.

Panic bubbles in my throat and I practically choke, bending forward and resting my head against the bag. My body shakes as I force the tears away, ignoring the tightness on my chest and the way my lungs constrict, gasping and struggling for air.

I'm dizzy. Overwhelmed—I don't want this, I don't want to deal with this I want to go home.

'I'm going to die here.' The thought is abrupt and painful and I grit my teeth once more. 'I'm going to die in this world.'

"You aren't going to die," James says calmly. "You will survive. You will get home. But you need to be strong; keep it together." After a moment of thought he adds, "And stay away from large bodies of Mana for the time being."

I blink rapidly. 'Why?'

"When you first arrived, the Mana in the air shocked your nerves—and Mana system—to hell and back. You remember the pain?" I nod, then hum in response, ignoring the way my skin tingles at the memory of earlier. "That was because of overexposure. People born into either of the two worlds are born with a Mana system. It filters Mana in the air and makes it less potent, allowing the body to use it safely. It's as valuable to them as blood and air."

"But you're from Earth; your body has never been exposed to Mana. Your system is underdeveloped and weak—since then, your body has been slowly drawing in Mana from the air around you."

I shut my eyes. Thankfully the tears are long gone, but the panic is still there, sitting on my chest and constricting it. 'Why do I have a Mana system if I'm from Earth?'

James is silent for a long while. I'm about to ask again when he simply replies with, "I can't answer that."

"What I can tell you is this; exposing a completely undeveloped system to the amount of Mana in the air around you right now? It's dangerous. It puts a tremendous amount of strain on your heart."

I feel cold. Despite the fact that the air around me is hot, I feel chilled to the bone from his words. 'Does that mean … am I in danger of dying?'

James hums. "No, don't worry. You survived the hardest part. Now that your system is used to taking in Mana, it will work as it's supposed to."

I nod, but say nothing in response. Eventually, after probably a minute, James sighs. "Unfortunately, I have to go now—I'm sorry."

My heart lurches, terror returning and slamming into me like a wrecking ball. "No—" I cut myself off. 'No, where are you going? You're from Earth, right? Why can't you stay with me? How are you even talking to me?'

"Like I said; I have to go now. I really am sorry … but it's going to be alright. Alright? Trust me; you're going to survive, and you're going to make it home. Don't give up."

It's silent after that. No matter how much prodding I do, attempting to drag James back to me, it doesn't work, and I hug the bag tighter to my chest.

Alone—I really am alone, now. The only connection to what brought me here is gone; if James was even real in the first place, that is. For all I know … he could be a figment of my imagination; someone I've made up to deal with this.

Maybe I've gone crazy and I don't even know it.

When Sheena tells me to come over and eat, I have to practically drag myself to my feet. She blinks when I approach, noticing my expression and asking, "What's wrong?"

"I'm …" I shake my head. "I'm just … tired."

"Are you sure?" She presses, and when I nod she lets the topic drop.

I don't have an appetite, but I eat anyways—and when the anxiety and nerves take over later that night and reduce me into a mess of tears, I don't fight it.