Night has fallen. The bright, bright sun and the small green moon have both sunk below the horizon, leaving the world illuminated only by the red moon's faint (and possibly artificial) glow. Ten thousand stars blaze overhead.

Sora is lying side by side with Shiro on the side of the road.

Oh yeah, he's awake.

"Our sleep schedules are completely hosed," he says inanely.

"I'm not naked, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say you won. Not that there was any doubt. What game did you end up going with?"

In the third chapter of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce's self-insert goes to church and listens to a fire and brimstone sermon about the slavering jaws of hell.

In hell, on the contrary, one torment, instead of counteracting another, lends it still greater force: and, moreover, as the internal faculties are more perfect than the external senses, so are they more capable of suffering. Just as every sense is afflicted with a fitting torment, so is every spiritual faculty; the fancy with horrible images, the sensitive faculty with alternate longing and rage, the mind and understanding with an interior darkness more terrible even than the exterior darkness which reigns in that dreadful prison.

Sora does not think that describing how it went down in that level of detail is a good idea right now. He can tell Shiro later, when he's feeling less stressed over it.

And, admittedly, it could have been worse. As Joyce's pastor phrased it:

Last and crowning torture of all the tortures of that awful place is the eternity of hell. Eternity! O, dread and dire word. Eternity! What mind of man can understand it? And remember, it is an eternity of pain. Even though the pains of hell were not so terrible as they are, yet they would become infinite, as they are destined to last for ever.

It's over. His vision is back to normal, he is no longer a space cadet, and the godawful pseudo-torture is just a memory. Not even a ton of memory, either. He's spent the last few hours sleeping (or at least experiencing shitty non-restful unconsciousness), and before that is hazy and easy to dismiss.

"It was more of a Saw trap than a game, unfortunately."

Shiro rolls over until she's lying directly on top of him. She is no longer small enough that her weight is negligible, but neither is she especially heavy.

"You have all of your fingers and toes and eyeballs, so I'm gonna say it wasn't that bad. Want breakfast? I have cereal bars, cereal bars, and… cereal bars."

"I could go for a cereal bar."

He's quite famished, in fact, but there is a 0% chance they are going foraging in these woods so they're going to have to ration what they've got.

Shiro eats breakfast and looks up at the beautiful stars. No recognizable constellations, but she's sure the people of Disboard have their own names and stories for them. Those stories might even be real – maybe there's a Tet constellation up there, commemorating some famous game for awesome stakes. Are there other gods, ones with their own stories? Maybe she'll meet them someday and ask.

"That band across the sky below the moon looks just like the Milky Way," she says. "We're probably in a spiral galaxy."

"If you say so."

Sora knows dozens of trivia facts about space but very little about astronomy. Shiro is the one who listens to audiobooks while gaming.

He eats breakfast by starlight, enjoying a view of the night sky unimpeded by light pollution. It's dark but not nearly as dark as Earth even under the light of a full moon – the path ahead is still visible. It's quiet here.

"I'm starting to get blisters. You might need to carry me later."

"What a delicate flower you are," he says flatly, standing up. "Come on, we're burning moonlight. The sooner we find a town the sooner we'll know whether Disboard has grocery stores that do home delivery."

"I'm not holding out hope," Shiro admits. She squints up at him. "Hey, you have something orange on your cheek."

"Kind of looks like a lipstick mark."

Yikes, how did that happen? He rubs it off quickly.

"We were eating berries. Must be fruit juice."

"Glad you had fun without me. I wasn't sure if that was possible."

With that they set out, down the long and winding road to a destination they cannot name and a future they cannot ascertain, and while Shiro does need Sora to carry her for parts of it, he doesn't seem to mind.

The nearest city is within walking distance! It's even recognizably a city rather than a village, in the sense that its inhabitants have several priorities other than farming. Multi-story buildings with glazed windows rise from the hillsides, connected by paved brick pathways and serviced by tall stone aqueducts. People mill about on rooftops beneath wide parasols and beneath the shade of skyways. There are no walls around this city, no gate or checkpoint to pass through officially.

In the middle of the city is an immense castle made of whitish stone that glitters merrily in the sunlight, with flags and banners of arms hung from the battlements. Its looming presence is more reminiscent of a metropolitan skyscraper than a medieval fortification. The rest of the city spirals about the castle at its base, like the tail of a cat curled up around its body as it sleeps.

There are a few people on the road in and out, all of whom wear broad hats to keep the light out of their eyes. The dominant form of transport is walking, with merchant carts pulled by beasts of burden a distant second.

"Excuse me! Can you give me directions to an inn, or anywhere a traveler might find accommodations?"

"You'll be lucky if there's anything left, what with the folks coming in for the tournament," says one of the other humans on the road. "I'd try the Railbird's Perch, they've got the most rooms and they don't charge a fortune."

Sora wheedles the details out of the man. The translation magic, which the fairy must've set up while he was otherwise occupied, works fairly unobtrusively. If he doesn't pay attention to the words the other man is saying then it's hardly even noticeable. It's only when Sora hones in on the syllables and words-as-sounds that it becomes apparent they are not speaking a common language.

"Did you get all that?" he asks, once they're on their way again.

"I have Tongues now. Or Comprehend Languages, can't know for sure until I say something. Why didn't you ask him about the tournament?"

"If this tournament is so important that the city is running out of hotel rooms, we're going to hear more about it soon enough."

Railbird's Perch is a further half-hour walk into the city. Most of the paths are designed to have plenty of shade from buildings and trees, making it pleasantly cool despite the hour of the day.

The inn is a stately building situated on an island in a stream surrounded by bridges. The wraparound veranda is populated by people eating, drinking, and playing cards. Most of people drinking are in fact standing, so as to watch the people playing cards. There's some chatter, but overall the atmosphere is one of intense concentration.

Sora goes to the concierge desk to ask about rooms, food, the tournament, the local medium of exchange, the political situation, the general level of technology, and any problems that urgently need attention from visitors with a comprehensive 21^st century education.