Chapter 10 #2
The differences between our worlds show in everything. Even strangers acknowledge each other’s presence in Meridian, sharing information about road conditions or potential dangers. Survival often depends on spontaneous cooperation with people you’ve never met before.
As we travel, I study the landscape passing outside, or what I can see of it.
“How many people live in this world?”
“On Earth? Over seven billion last I heard.”
“And they all live under the same governance?”
She laughs. “No, there are hundreds of different countries, each with their own government. Sometimes they cooperate, sometimes they fight.” Ellie’s expression turns thoughtful.
“Actually, that’s not so different from your world, is it?
Meridian isn’t the only realm, right? You said your mom was from somewhere else.
So you have different realms, different rulers, and I guess different conflicts and alliances. ”
“I believe the scale may be different, and certainly our methods of communication are not like yours. How do they prevent conflicts from destroying everything?"
“They don’t sometimes. We’ve had wars that killed millions of people.
But we’ve also developed weapons so destructive that using them would destroy the entire world.
So, there’s a sort of mutual assured destruction kind of balance.
It’s too dangerous to fight, but also too important not to compete. ”
“Using mutual annihilation as a deterrent seems a strange way to avoid war.”
“I suppose it is, but it doesn’t stop smaller conflicts. Or prevent people from finding other ways to hurt each other.” She straightens in her seat. “This is our stop.”
The train hisses to a stop, and the doors slide open. We follow the flow of people outside, and Ellie turns toward a path where there is a row of yellow vehicles.
“These are cabs. We pay the driver to take us to wherever we want to go.”
She opens the door and climbs inside onto a long bench seat. I join her, copying as she pulls a strange belt across her body. She shows me how to clip the end into the slot in the seat, then leans forward to speak to the man at the front.
He replies, and then the cab rolls forward.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I study the buildings as they become smaller, designed more for function over form. It reminds me of towns and cities controlled by the Authority.
“Institutional control through environment.” I say the thought out loud.
She frowns at me. “What do you mean?”
“In Meridian, Authority buildings follow similar principles. Serve basic needs. Minimize cost. Ignore human comfort.” I turn to look at her. “If you make people feel temporary and replaceable, then it’s harder for them to form attachments or organize resistance.”
She blinks, then looks beyond me to the world outside with wide eyes. “I’ve never … do you think it’s intentional?”
“Possibly not to begin with. But effective regardless.”
When the vehicle stops, Ellie hands the driver folded pieces of paper, then opens the door. The building in front of us is three stories high. There’s a sign on the wall beside the door, which I assume states what the building’s function is.
“This is it.” Her voice is quiet.
I study her face, noting the tension around her eyes, the way her breathing has turned more erratic.
“We can approach this however you find most comfortable.”
She nods, and takes a deep breath. “Let’s go inside.”
The entrance reminds me of Authority buildings in Ashenvale.
A space designed to process people, rather than comfort them.
The lighting above our heads eliminates shadows completely, but also removes any sense of warmth.
The floors are covered in material that appears to have been chosen for ease of cleaning.
Everything smells of something sharp, cleaning supplies maybe.
Beside me, Ellie’s posture changes a little. Her shoulders are straighter, her expression guarded. A defensive stance learned here, and now being triggered by memory and her return. I want to reach out and comfort her, but I’m not certain it would be appreciated.
There is a woman sitting at a table near the entrance, and she looks up when we walk toward her. I position myself where I can watch while Ellie moves closer. The woman’s gaze flicks to me briefly, then switches to Ellie.
Their conversation is brief. Ellie’s voice is soft, nervous, lacking the confidence it has when she talks to me, while the woman’s is sharp.
Ellie’s shoulders sag, and she says something else, then starts to turn away.
The woman watches her for a second, then glances around nervously, before speaking again.
She pulls out a sheet of parchment and writes on it, before sliding it across the table toward Ellie.
Ellie’s face transforms, a smile curving up her lips and chasing away the disappointment of seconds ago. She speaks once more, then turns to me.
“Mrs. Patterson, who ran the place when I lived here, died three years ago. But there’s someone else. Mrs. Clancy. She worked here for over twenty years and might remember me. The woman gave me her address.”
“She seemed reluctant.”
“Privacy policies. Staff information is supposed to be confidential.” Ellie studies the paper in her hand. “But she said that Mrs. Clancy often gets visits from kids who aged out.”
“That’s good. It means she wants to help, despite protocol.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because people who bend rules for the right reasons think bigger than people who follow them blindly.” I follow her outside. “Do we need to find another vehicle?”
“No, it’s close enough to walk.” She looks away. “And walking will give me time to think about what I want to say. I can’t just tell her we need a bracelet I lost because it might help us return to another world, and that I hope she has it.”
“You could, but I don’t think it would help.”
She gives a soft laugh, and bumps my arm with her shoulder.
We walk along streets lined with individual buildings where people have made homes. Each one has personal touches outside—decorations, small grassed areas, choices about color and arrangement.
“I can see that these places are different from where you grew up.”
“How do you mean?”
“Where you lived represents temporary existence. This represents long-term living. Having a personal investment in a place creates an investment in the community surrounding it.”
“I never had that,” she says quietly after a few minutes. “Personal investment in somewhere.”
“Do you want it?”
“Yes, but not in the same way.”
“What changed?”
“Purpose, I guess. In my old life, I was just … existing. Getting by. Surviving from one day to the next without much reason beyond habit.” Her steps slow. “In Meridian, what I do matters. My choices have consequences beyond my own comfort.”
“How does it feel returning here, to a place where your actions carry less importance?”
“It feels like stepping backward. Like accepting that I am less than I’m capable of being … less than I deserve.”
The admission reveals the depth of change she’s undergone. It isn’t just adaptation to a different world, but a transformation of her understanding of her identity. She’s discovered abilities she never knew she possessed, and found purpose beyond mere survival.
When we reach the address given to her, Ellie hesitates at the gate leading to the main entrance.
“What if she doesn’t remember me?” The words spill out. “Or worse, what if she remembers me but doesn’t want to talk to me? What if she asks questions I can’t answer? What if the bracelet was thrown away years ago, or—”
“Multiple scenario planning is useful. Catastrophic thinking is not.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I lift an eyebrow in return.
“Am I wrong, Mel’shira?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Planning prepares you. Catastrophic thinking assumes the worst possible outcome is the only one that will happen. If this approach fails, we will adapt.”
“Do we?”
“Of course. But we won’t know anything unless you speak to her.”
“Right. You’re right.” She takes a deeper breath, shoulders straightening. “I’m overthinking this.”
“There is a Veinwarden saying. When you fight against the wind, you will always lose.” I reach out and stroke my knuckles down her cheek. “It means stop wasting energy on threats that only exist in your head, while ignoring the actual battlefield before you.”
She manages a smile, then opens the gate.
I follow, moving to one side out of view, where I can watch everything while having enough space around me to protect her if I need to.
I don’t think we’re in any danger, but there is little point in ignoring the risks, especially when facing unknown situations.
Ellie raises her hand to knock, then pauses and looks at me. I understand her hesitation. She’s about to confront someone from her past, someone who might hold answers to questions that have shaped her entire life.
“You are strong, Mel’shira. This is not the hardest battle you have faced.”
She knocks. Footsteps approach from the inside, and moments later the door opens to reveal an older woman. Her gaze settles on Ellie, and confusion fills her face.
Ellie speaks, and the woman responds with what sounds like a question. Then Ellie says something that makes the woman’s expression change from confusion to interest, and she opens the door wider. An invitation to enter.
But as Ellie steps forward, and I move into view, all color drains from her face.
Her hand rises to press against her chest, and she stumbles back a step. Without further warning, she drops to her knees on the threshold, her voice trembling as words fall from her lips in a language she should have no knowledge of.
“Vareth’el et’Varin Sacha Torran.”
The words are spoken in perfect Meridian by a woman who should have no knowledge of my world, my language, or my title.