On one sunny day, and an excruciatingly hot afternoon, two men were conversing by a doorstep next to a brown horse. The buildings all around weren't tall, urbanised and developing as you would expect from this era. No, they had been reduced to tiny houses of thatched roof just like those of medieval England. Some say the gods might have felt insecure in the midst of so many tall objects.
"Did you hear the news?" asked one man. "Someone felled a god!"
"Pfft!" The other hissed. "Has to be duelists from the Playground!"
"No, really!" The young man insisted. "It wasn't god vs god. A man beat a god!"
Robin dropped on the floor and ruffled his hair in confusion. "Did he nuke him or something?"
"Come on now. How on earth was he supposed to find a nuke? He beat this dude. Fair and Square!"
"But that's impossible, Samuel. The little magic we learn couldn't even sing those cosmic monsters. Moreover, if something like that did happen, there would be an uproar among the gods by now."
Samuel thought for a while and agreed. "By the way, where's Ronan?"
"Taking his sweet time like the self-entitled princess he is," answered Robin, as he took a lick off his emptied 'beer bag' (or so he called it). Samuel handed him a bottle of beer from a pannier on his horse, and made a different suggestion.
"He could be worshipping," he said. "It's best for him to gather as much spiritual energy as possible."
"Or practicing," Robin added. And then, the two heaved a long sigh.
As time went by, they began to consider abandoning him, and simply going off on the expedition themselves. The rest of the party wouldn't surely await them, because, quite frankly, they were three utterly useless musketeers. Everyone knew them for how unproductive they were. How they would go on fifty expeditions and have nothing to show for it, save for some muscle gain in their legs and a lot of sweat. Sammy was the enthusiastic one who always dreamed big, but saw little, while Robin was the care-free lad that went on these life-threatening trips with the simple goal of surviving and gobbling paychecks.
As for Ronan….who was Ronan again?
Anyway, this was the average life of an unemployed youth in the Cosmic Age.
Robin sighed. "We've waited long enough."
Samuel nodded. The both of them fastened their swords, adjusted their armours and mounted the horse. Samuel sat ahead.
"Come on, let me ride this time," Robin pleaded.
Samuel shook his head. "When you get your own horse, ride it."
"Petty," Robin hissed, as if he weren't the greatest miser known to human history.
Just as they were about to leave, Ronan showed up, somehow looking more dusty and impoverished than he did yesterday.
"Hey guys," he panted. "Running off without me, are you?"
"You look like you barely survived a plague," Ronan blurted. "Anyways, hop on. There's space for one more."
It was a small horse, so there was in fact, no space for one more. The three squeezed at each other like mashed potatoes, and the poor horse had to work thrice as hard as she was meant to.
Soon they arrived at the gathering of twenty or so people, who sat around a fire in the midst of multiple dilapidated buildings. Out of these, Ronan only recognised Jeffrey, Josh, Erta, and Mathias.
It was a no-brainer that they had reached a zone far from the usual settlements; A Red Zone.
Spatial cracks opened randomly in these areas, thanks to the presence of the watchers above. It wasn't a new thing to get your lower half severed from your torso by chance, but thankfully, it was rather rare.
However, the real danger lied in the dimension beyond the cracks.
Everyone watched as three peasants rolled and tumbled off a very irritated horse. Robin nearly went flying, and Samuel was this close to getting trampled. Ronan recovered quickly and dusted his clothes, as if it made a difference.
Among the three, Ronan was the only one without armour.
He wasn't reckless. He was poor.
Very poor.
His clothes were basic and old school. He wore a simple white shirt, tucked in brown trousers, and wielded the cheapest sword he could find. His cap and boots were as dusty as a fossil, and his face had been darkened from ash and all sorts of black steam from his other workplace.
He made Robin and Samuel appear decent. Even though the three looked the same; matching black irises, simple noses, and a jawline nowhere close to defined, with the characteristic british baldness catching up earlier than usual, there was still a big distinction between him and the two.
"You're late," the captain (named Captain) reprimanded. "The ritual is about to start."
One girl chuckled, seeing Ronan look as lost as always. She had black hair, a penetrative stare, and an athletic build, adorning her with the aesthetics of a natural beauty.
"I see you've got your sword back. Are you a swordsman today?" Erta asked.
Ronan nodded.
"Weren't you a mage, yesterday?" inquired Jeffrey.
"And a preacher the day before," added Josh.
"Man's gotta try everything," Ronan shrugged, joining the circle.
All twenty three of them cut their palms, and squeezed some of the blood into the flame. They did so until at least six drops had fallen. Then, the captain began to chant:
"As the wind blows, and the fire grows, may the trails of the fiery phoenix be our guidance."
The fire took on a deep red colouration, and it burned brighter than before.
"Let us go," he commanded.
At once, the group of twenty entered the gash in space. And it closed up right after them.