(no subject)
Two seconds ago, Jalil Sherman had been standing in the caves of the underground Dwarf Kingdom, just a days’ walk from Ireland, where they’d been attacked by Sennites and fought with fairies.
In the present, he was standing in the middle of… is this a park? He looked around at the snow on the ground, though the cold hadn’t immediately hit him. Five seconds later it was, though. He was wearing old fashioned robes that were much too small for his 6’1” frame, coming down to settle above his knees. Where am I? Snow - where are the others? He looked around him, turning quickly, reaching down into the pocket of his robe for the Swiss army knife that wasn’t there.
But now he was shaking his head some. No, this wasn’t Everworld. That was a streetlight. A park bench - a main street, buildings. Lights. There was electricity in Ireland in Everworld, but nothing like this.
So the dark-skinned young man (just barely a man - eighteen years old, though he looked much older) was coming forward, the boots he was wearing crunching the snow underneath them. Hands were shoved into his pockets and he was moving forward quickly, to the building nearest to where he was, the first one he saw with lights on inside. This was modern society. He had no idea where he was, but it was modern society. There had to be a heater in there. And probably normal people.
So he was shoving the door open and when he looked inside, his brows lifted in surprise. A bookstore?