The wolf opened his eyes.

The world around him was loud, bright, and utterly unfamiliar. The ground beneath him wasn’t earth or grass but a curious lattice of carved, square stones, set along what appeared to be a dried-up river bed. Down the middle of this path moved strange contraptions that looked like wooden boxes with large wheels, drawn by great four-legged beasts, and to the side walked… People, of a sort, but not like any people the wolf had ever seen. They walked upright, on two legs, with no scales nor wings of any kind, their fingers capped by what even a generous soul like he could barely describe as claws. Their flesh was soft, pink, and exposed, and they draped themselves in what appeared to be the hides of unknown beasts, perhaps the same ones pulling their wheeled boxes. And the noise… A low but deafening roar permeated the air around him, as if the world itself was angry. How could they stand it?

Maybe they couldn’t hear it. They certainly didn’t seem to notice the wolf in their midst. They just walked past him. No, he realized. That wasn’t quite right. They weren’t walking past him. They were walking through him. Their legs passed straight through his body, as if they weren’t really there. Were they ghosts? Spirits? He wasn’t sure. This place didn’t make sense. Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps he’d wake up soon, be surrounded once again by his pack, his family. But the wolf had dreamed many times before. This felt different. It felt solid. It felt real.

Slowly and carefully, he rose to his feet. It was a strange sensation: The ground felt too far away, like he was standing on a cloud. The world shimmered a little, as if viewed through the surface of a lake, but he quickly found his bearings and began to walk. The constant mill of the crowd was strange and foreign, but as he got used to passing through them, navigation became easy, and he began to explore.

The path was lined with unnatural-looking structures, built of stone, wood, and clay, with flat faces and sealed portals. Some had holes cut in them, filled with strange, clear squares of some unknown material that allowed the wolf to look inside, although compared to the outside world there didn’t seem to be much there to see. Between the structures were smaller, darker paths, connecting this one to others like it. The wolf entered one of these, and was relieved to find the constant din quieted down, at least a little. It was still there, but at least he could hear himself think.

He could hear something else, too. The sound of metal sliding softly against stone drew his eyes to a particularly dark alcove, and after a moment he managed to make out the shape of a person, draped in black cloth, hiding in the deep shadows. Unknown species or not, the wolf knew a hunter when he saw one. But where was its prey? Another sound drew his ear… Footsteps. He looked up toward the far end of the passage just in time to see another person enter. The hunter tensed. The wolf let out a howl to warn the unsuspecting wanderer, but if he was heard, he was ignored. The prey walked past the alcove, and the hunter didn’t hesitate. In the blink of an eye, there was a knife in the poor prey’s side, and the hunter was running away, holding a bag its victim had been carrying.

The wolf stood still for a long time. He had never felt so helpless, so ineffectual, so weak. He had just watched someone die, and he had done everything in his power to prevent it, and it had been like he wasn’t even there. Was he even there? Where was he? What was this place, and how had he come to find himself here? He sat down, suddenly weary beyond words, and, for the first time since he’d first opened his eyes, the gravity of his situation began to set in.

“Have you figured it out yet?” came a voice from behind him. It rumbled, deep and low, yet there was an unmistakable warmth to it, like the last flickers of a dying flame. The wolf turned, surprised that anyone in this realm could see him, although that would not be his last surprise.

The creature before him was massive. Its head blocked the sun, and its shadow filled the entire alleyway. Off the sides of its head hung two giant, leathery ears, not unlike a bat’s wings, and its face was dominated by a long, dangling appendage where its nose should be. Its skin was grey, its eyes a faded brown. It was clothed in a white robe underneath a long, sleeveless jacket and it leaned heavily on a large cane.

And it was old. There were visual clues, of course. Its skin was wrinkled, and the tusks protruding from its mouth, carved with ancient and powerful runes, had been stained yellow with age. But it was more than that. It didn’t just look old: it felt old. Something about the way it carried itself spoke tales of eons past. Its presence was ancient, even more so than its body. Its countenance carried wisdom: not the proud, boastful wisdom of youth, but a quiet, refined wisdom honed across centuries.

“Well,” the figure repeated, as the wolf stared silently, “have you?”

And finally, he did. Realization came crashing down on him like a wave. He knew where he was. He knew what he was, and he knew why he could never go home again.

“I’m dead.”

The figure shook its head and smiled softly. “Things would be much simpler if that were true. There's so very much to discuss.”

Many hours had passed. The two sat by the docks, watching the tide slowly seep away. The wolf found this place relaxing: It reminded him of home, at least more than anywhere else in this… City? Was that what the loxodon had called it? Anyway, at least this world had an ocean. That was something he could understand.

He looked up again at the sky. “So,” he began, slowly, trying again to parse what he’d been told. “Every one of those stars… is its own world?”

The loxodon, whose name he’d learned was Sri Hara, shook his head. “No, my friend. The stars are just stars. The worlds lie beyond them.”

“And how many are there?”

“No one knows for sure. I’ve visited hundreds, and met travelers from thousands more. Most of us believe they are endless. Some have tried to map them all, but we usually lose touch with those that try. Either they're lost to their journey, or simply too embarrassed to admit they gave up.”

“Then how do you find your way home?”

Sri Hara sighed, and a hint of sadness settled over his stooped shoulders.

“Sorry,” the wolf began, “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” the loxodon interrupted. “My journey has been a long time ending, and no nearer to my home, but yours is just beginning. Your people still need you, my friend.”

“Then how do I find them?”

“It’s hard to explain… It’s like a memory you've yet to live. You must begin by understanding that what keeps you here is nothing more than an illusion. The veils between worlds are not really there, nor is the veil between what is you and what is there. You are part of everything, you simply must remember the part of you that is elsewhere.”

“And what if I can’t?”

“Well, then, perhaps I could offer you a temple or two to stay in, heavens know I’ve got more than enough to spare.”

“I’m serious, what if I can’t reach them in time?”

Sri Hara smiled. “You will. Close your eyes, imagine yourself back in your forest. Think of the sights, the smells, the sounds. It’s still there, inside you, much closer than you think. Feel the familiar mana of home, reach out to the great flow of mana that connects it all...”

The wolf closed his eyes and calmed his mind. His home felt distant, like a half-forgotten dream, but it was there. Slowly, it began to take shape in his mind, and as each piece fell into place, it grew closer and closer, until he felt like he could take one step in this city and the next would fall in the woods.

“I think I’ve found it.”

Sri Hara nodded. “Good.”

“Things are worse than I thought. I have to go immediately.”

“I understand.”

“Will we meet again?”

“That I can’t tell you, but I can’t say I’d be sorry if we did. If we do not, I but ask you remember me fondly and I shall remember you as best I can. Though, I hate to admit, I’m afraid I never caught your name.”

The wolf paused, taking one last look out across the water. “Jestopher.”

Sri Hara closed his eyes and nodded. “Well, Jestopher," he said quietly, "it’s time to go home.”

Sri Hara sat in silence a little while longer, watching the sun set as best he could with what little sight he had left. When it had grown too dark to watch any longer, he rose, closed his eyes, and then he too was gone.