This ends here, a newborn god says through its creators lips, and Telumë is a vessel filled with light - a shining city, and finally, finally, the light is bright enough and the path ahead is clear enough and they can see their way through to ending this war. 

- the young god sees something else, though. A - splitting, something that falls into mist. It's never seen anything like that in Foresight before. 

??? the god asks Telumë. 

Will Sauron be dead? Will Velgarth be safe? Those are, at this point, the only things left that really matter, to make all of this worthwhile. If this is what needs to happen, to defeat Sauron, then Telumë is willing to pay that other unknown cost. 

And through him, Foundation anchors on the Maia's magic and rips open a crack in the structure of the planes and dismantles Sauron's essence for fuel. 

For a moment he's falling, and then for a timeless interval he's nowhere at all, and then time snaps back into existence and he's...where...somewhere else...? 

Telumë has no idea what just happened. The surface under him is cold and hard. He should probably make some kind of attempt to figure out where he is but he's so tired and his mage-senses are still whited out and - it's very hard to care, he's not sure why it should matter, because it's over. It's finally over. Whatever happened, he saw Sauron die. 

Alex is the one who notices it first. 

"- Hey, guys? Hoss? I thought I– it's probably nothing, just, though I saw something on the cameras. Cargo hold." 

He can't see how there could possibly be someone on the ship, it's still hard to believe the first spy hid as long as he did - and he wasn't stupid enough to wander around in the cargo hold. 

But they've been on edge ever since they departed from Charted Belt Asteroid BA-834024112 and sent a torpedo on their way out. It might not be someone. It could be something a lot worse. 

He unstraps himself. "Better check it out." 

Naomi barely looks up from her engineering status panel. "Amos, go with him." 

Amos, as usual, takes the lead. With his gun out and in his hand, though not raised, and he's left the safety on. For now. 

...Which is why he is the first one to reach the dim-lit cargo bay, currently holding atmosphere and possessing gravity thanks to the drive being on, and see the figure sprawled on the ground. 

A human-shaped figure. Small, either a woman or a youth. 

"The fuck." He's already reaching for a flashlight. "Holden, stay back. We've got a situation. Another one." 

There are footsteps, which Telumë fails to notice because he's currently semiconscious, drifting.  

He definitely notices the light in his eyes. It's very bright. He can't see its source at all, and his Othersenses - 

- are not working very well right now and also ow that was a bad idea. 

It's a kid. Fourteen, fifteen, he can't tell. Skinny, underfed, but with a sturdier build than most Belters. Martian or Earther, then. And he doesn't look in great shape.

The kid whimpers and tries to roll away from the light. 

Amos backs off five paces, hand on the safety of his gun. 

"Holden. Holden, back the fuck off - tell Naomi - got a kid here, fuck if I know how he got in, but he looks real sick. Tell everyone to keep their distance - I'll make sure he stays put." 

"What? ...Amos, do not shoot the child. I'll, I'll get Naomi..." 

"Shit." Naomi abandons her panel this time. "Could the kid have -" 

"Gotten off that damned ship while we were checking it out? I don't know - don't see how, cameras only picked him up now. And I didn't see a suit." 

"But he could be infected." Naomi bites her lip. "And we don't even have a bloody medic." 

"Technically we never did have one." 

Naomi rolls her eyes ceiling-ward. 

"I'll put on a suit and go check him out." 

Telumë half-wakes to movement. More lights. He thinks maybe he's being carried by someone, except that doesn't quite make sense, whatever's supporting him is hard and cold and metallic...

Maybe Vanyel is getting him back to the north? That would make sense. Telumë vaguely wishes they could leave it alone for a while, though. Wishes things would just stop. He's dizzy and his entire body hurts and it feels deeply unreasonable that, after he finally managed to defeat Sauron - at the cost of multiple countries - there continue to be MORE THINGS. 

Something jars him and he almost screams, would scream if he had the breath, instead it's only a whimper.

And then finally, blessedly, the motion stops and he's horizontal, mostly. Something squeezes his arm. A while after that, the pain eases.

Telumë still has very little idea what's happening, but it's definitely not Sauron, so...the situation will be all right. He did his part, to make it that way, and now he's done and he lets the darkness swallow him. 

Naomi, still suited up, finishes setting up the autodoc, and pokes at the screen. 

The rest of the crew stays outside of the medbay. No point exposing all of them. 

Holden radios Naomi. "So. What's wrong with him? Is he..." 

"The autodoc isn't sure! Not detecting any pathogen, but - would it? It's not - we know it's nothing we've ever seen. ...S'not sure what is wrong with him. I've gave him a sedative and a painkiller..." 

She frowns some more at the screen. "It's - something's up with his neurological activity, it's suggesting he may have...had a seizure recently? Not a stroke - no structural abnormality -" 

"He could be infected. We've got no idea what that thing does to people before it gets to - what we saw back there." 

"I know that!" Naomi snaps. "Nobody's going to be stupid here. Give me a minute here, 'kay?"

The autodoc thinks the kid is dehydrated and wants her to place an IV line and give him some fluids, which would be fine if not for the part where she's wearing a pressure suit; the gloves are designed to let you do fiddly repair work in vacuum but it's still not the same. It takes her a while. Also the kid's blood sugar is critically low? Naomi can't see how that's related to anything here but it's not like she's a medic. 

Telumë sleeps through all of this. He probably would even without the sedative; he's incredibly exhausted. 

"- Right. Autodoc thinks he's stable. I...guess I'll just leave him in here, he's restrained and sure doesn't look like he's going anywhere." 

"You'd better decontaminate really thorough before you come back out here, Naomi." 

"How many times do I have to say I'm not stupid?" 

She does it, though, and it's not until a half-hour later that the crew meets to discuss. 

"So - what's going on? What the hell was that?" 

"I mean, he's got to be a stowaway, right? Like that spy." 

"When could he have gotten on board, though? He's not - he can't have been in any shape to be sneaking around. And there's not many options. I don't see how he could've possibly been here since we left Tycho Station, so... Either he snuck aboard from the Anubis, or - what, when those Martians nearly boarded us? Except they didn't board, so - he'd have had to be in a pressure suit, gotten in through the airlock without us spotting him..." 

"It doesn't make any sense." 

"Nothing's made sense since the Cant blew up." 

"Well, he got here somehow." 

"Maybe we can question him when he's awake. - Naomi, reckon he could be OPA?" 

"Not sure why you're asking me."

They talk in circles some more. They don't really get anywhere. 

Elsewhere, a long way off by any standard reckoning - though by the scale of a solar system it's close by - 

There's a flare of magic - it feels a little like a Gate except not, and Vanyel tries to scream but for a moment he - isn't anywhere - and there's nothing and no one to hear him - 

And then he lands sprawling on a hard scratchy surface, and someone nearby yelps. 

He really hates space. 

It's a little embarrassing. Miller is a Belter, born and bred. But he's never left Ceres, before, not in his whole life. 

The nearby startled yell doesn't help at all with his mood. He doesn't even twitch, though. At this point, a sudden mechanical malfunction dumping them all into vacuum would be just his luck. 

He turns slowly. 

What. 

Ow. She landed badly on - whatever that was. 

:Van? Chosen - are you hurt -: 

There's a fucking horse. At least he thinks that's what the - thing - is. It's not like Miller has ever seen a horse before. The most surprising part is its size. Apparently horses are huge. It's starting at him with disconcertingly intelligent-seeming blue eyes. 

There's also a man, sprawled flat on his back in the aisle between seats. He's small and very thin - doesn't look sturdy enough to be an Earther, though most Belters are taller. He's wearing all-white clothes which have seen better days, and despite the fact that his face makes him look no older than forty, his hair is silvery-white. 

What. 

Where is he. Why doesn't he remember how he got here? 

Vanyel sits up, with some effort. Whatever it was, it seems to have taken a lot out of him - or maybe that's just from everything that happened earlier today. 

For a moment, as his eyes focus, he wonders if Foundation transported them back up north, maybe to one of Telumë's secure underground facilities. It has the same claustrophobic feel. 

- but then his vision clears, and Vanyel stares around, baffled. He doesn't recognize the place. He doesn't recognize any of the people, either, and judging by their stunned expressions they don't have the faintest idea what he's doing here. 

If he sits and waits then maybe someone else will do something. Not that it's clear what one does about, suddenly, a fucking horse on a transport shuttle. 

No one else moves. 

Miller groans and unfolds himself until he's sitting upright. "Oye, baratna," he calls out to the stranger, now using the arm of someone's chair to pull himself upright. "Why you here?" 

That...is not even slightly a language Vanyel recognizes. He blinks helplessly at the older, oddly-dressed, and very cranky-looking man. "What?" 

Is that one of the obscure Earther languages? Miller speaks English and Belta and that's it. 

He repeats the question, though. 

This is incredibly confusing! 

:'Fandes, do you recognize anything about where we are?: 

:No. Sorry. Don't have a clue. ...They look more human than Quendi: 

Vanyel had, in fact, already noticed that for himself. 

:Try having a look around, I guess?: 

:What– oh, I guess I can use Farsight: He's already been peeking with mage-sight and there's nothing. No sign of magic in any of the structure... 

He reaches with his Farsight - 

What. 

...All right. Focus. Maybe it's just the direction, he mixed up his up and down and is looking at the sky - 

- it's not that. It's nothing but blackness and stars on all sides - no, in one direction there's something else - 

It's beautiful. And baffling, and more than a little frightening... Vanyel has no idea what to make of it. 

:...I think I'd better try talking to someone: 

:Er, all right - I guess we've got to try something: 

Vanyel is getting the sense that, wherever they are, it's a very, very long way from home, and he doubts anyone here knows about Mindspeech, let alone the Companions of Valdemar. They're about to get a big surprise. 

...There are other worlds. He knew that already. There are other worlds and why would there be only two. And if there are worlds that are flat, with glowing trees instead of a sun, why not 'worlds' where there's no world part at all, just - odd houses, floating in the void between stars... 

Yfandes addresses the older man who seems to have found his balance relatively quickly, and is watching her and Vanyel cautiously. 

:Hello: she tries. :Can you understand this? My name is Yfandes and this is Vanyel: 

All right. Focus. He can do this. 

"I - what - which of you - was it the fucking horse who said that. Are you kidding." 

:My name is Yfandes and I'm a Companion, not a horse, but I see the confusion: 

"...Right. And how did you get on this ship, exactly." 

:...Ship? There's not– nevermind. We're sorry about that. It was an accident: 

That is not in any way an explanation. Not even slightly. 

:...Long story. Magical accident, in a war. Er, do you have magic here -: 

Vanyel is way too tired to deal with this right now. He groans and lies down on the floor. 

"Do we - what - copeng, someone slip you some of the hard stuff -? Or me, more like." 

This is way too much absurdity, too fast. He can't absorb it. A single concrete problem to focus on is a relief. 

"Your friend, is he hurt? You need a medic?" 

She can't understand the words, of course, and it's hard even for a Companion to make sense of it by Thoughtsensing when someone is as confused as this man seems to be.

:That would probably be good. ...Did you see anyone else. We were - there was someone else with us, looks like this -: She flashes the man a mental image of Telumë. 

"Medic!" Miller stands up, looks around the cramped shuttle. "Do we got a medic on board?" Almost certainly not. It's a crumbling rustbucket en route to the asshole of the solar system - or was it 'the armpit of the solar system', he's not sure now... 

Oh no this is so embarrassing. 

:'Fandes, please tell him I'm not dying. I'll be fine, I just - need a minute...: 

:He needs a week's rest in a warm bed, more than anything else: Yfandes informs Miller. :We had a rough fight, back there. ...A blanket and some water to drink would do for now, I think: 

Miller is a cop. ...Used to be a cop. He's an ex-cop. Anyway. There may not be a medic on board, and the 'crew' such as it is sure isn't stepping in to help, but he knows how to get a shuttle full of people to listen. Someone has a blanket. Well, technically their sweater/shawl garment. It'll do. 

And somehow, even though it shouldn't come as any surprise at all, Miller is slightly surprised when his Mormon seatmate and new acquaintance gets down on the filthy floor and sheds his jacket so he can fold it up and tuck it under the mysterious probably-not-dying man's head. 

:That's very kind of you: Yfandes sends, with warmth. There's no room for her to nuzzle up against Vanyel in the aisle between seats, so she settles herself at his feet. :I'm Yfandes: 

Unlike the other man, he doesn't even blink. "You're very welcome. Ee-Fan-dez, is that - is that right?" 

It's close enough. :Yes. Er - may I ask, where are we?: 

(He is reminding himself over and over again that all people are children of God, no matter what they look like.)

"Of course. We are on a shuttle headed from Ceres to Eros." 

....That really doesn't help. 

:What - does this world have a name...?: 

"This - world -?" The Mormon frowns. "Are you referring to Earth, or our solar system?" 

The concept 'solar system', as read directly from the man's thoughts, conveys pretty clearly what he means! Yfandes knows enough astronomy to follow it - if only because of Leareth... 

:All of it?: she says uncertainly. :I - I think that we're from somewhere else. Somewhere that must be very, very far away: