Arik is happy to let Taharqi take credit for dealing with the dead-stealing, because if Taharqi hadn't been there it wouldn't have been dealt with! It was a team effort. (However, he maintains that the granny who makes the falafel likes him better.)

"That all sounds great." Arik gives a sweet root vegetable to Tommy the pecopeco, because Tommy was a very good boy and did not bite off even one of Taharqi's fingers for slinging Arik over his back like a sack of grain and leading him back to town. Not for lack of trying, but still.

(Taharqi was glad to find out that he hadn't been singled out for Tommy's murderous hatred. He had been feeling very hurt, last night, by how much Tommy seemed to want his death.)

Annika grabs a blue gemstone from an inner pocket in her gi and crushes it in her hand, causing a pillar of blue light to appear in front of her.

Taharqi steps into it and disappears in a flash of blue light.

"Do I also..."

"Yes."

Hop skip and a jump into the pretty blue light, Tommy following behind.

It's... pretty anticlimactic, all in all. His vision flashes blue, and he finds himself elsewhere. It doesn't really feel like anything.

He's in a clean lobby that could belong in an upscale inn in some big city. There is a counter manned by five people with one hallway to either side of it leading into parts unknown. There is a sort of a lounge area with chairs and potted plants and some artwork. There is a door behind him leading outside.

The architecture and art are recognisably Feltzeen—polished marble, metal-and-glass hanging lights, a huge section of the floor is transparent glass with limpid water flowing lazily visible underneath—but it's approximately maximally sterile and inoffensive within those constraints.

The sound of a teleport announces Annika's arrival behind him, and after she catches Taharqi's and Arik's eyes and nods at them she disappears into more blue light.

"Alright! Let me introduce you to some of the marvels of modern adventuring."

Arik follows dutifully, looking around. "Is this some kind of temple?"

"No, this is the lobby of the Kafra Corps. They provide a bunch of services for money, and aren't affiliated with any governments or churches. Relevantly, the resurrection point, but also storage and teleportation and a few other things." He gets in the non-urgent queue to speak with someone behind the counter.

"...kind of a money-temple, I guess. It's so shiny."

"Ha. Yes, I suppose you would not go far wrong imagining these people worship money."

"Reminds me of Lighthalzen," he grumbles.

"...really? I suppose the marble and the water are reminiscent."

"The marble, the water - we're an oasis in the desert, la - and they've waxed that marble floor. And they polish the wax. That's Lighthalzen."

"The ostentatiousness for no reason other than itself? I can see that." He hopes Arik has never been to the Rekenber Corporation HQ because he might blow a gasket there.

"Not understanding that there could be a reason for something to be beautiful. If you have a beautiful sword, it should be because it does its job and you take care of it. If you have a beautiful temple, it should be because you love your god and the beauty reminds you of that. You shouldn't have a beautiful bank. You can have a nice bank, because people have to look at it. But you shouldn't love it, and it shouldn't be beautiful. ...and you shouldn't polish a marble floor, anyway, not when people are tromping their greaves over it, it'll scuff. Leave the stone to weather."

"Next, please!"

"That'll be us," he says, thankful for not having to come up with something to say in response to that. "My friend here would like a resurrection point. He doesn't have a prior registration with you guys or Eden Group or Kuru Corps."

"Of course." They grab a piece of paper and offer it to Arik with a ballpoint pen. "Please fill out as much of this as you are comfortable with. The only mandatory field is your name, but for best access to your services we should collect your magical signature for future authentication."

"Oh, thank you."

He sets about the form. His name is Arik Bergson. How much of the rest does he even know?

Date of birth, location of birth, names of parents, Eden registration, various identification documents from various countries, membership to any of a number of Guilds and other organisations, current address...

"I would be comfortable giving you the rest of this information if I had any of it," he says, handing over the paper with his name on it and nothing else.