1:5:1 Quatarr (Part 3)

A human stood ahead of three Quatarrians on their left while the other two Quatarrians were on their right. There was a noticeable difference in physiques between the east and west. While the three Western Quatarrians were all incredibly well built, muscular figures, the Eastern Quatarrii were almost human in their proportions; shorter, thinner, paler. The Paragon looked to both groups before raising their hand. With their palm facing the sky, a second bubble of energy formed. It grew around them until all seven were encased. Instantly, the Quatarrians dropped to their knees.
“Sha’tara!” The Quatarrian’s whispered while urging their ally to bend the knee as well.
“Sha’tara.” The Paragon spoke. They looked at the admiring Quatarrians on the floor. “Rise.” And they did. “This battle has waged on for far too long.” The Paragon’s words were translated to the native languages of all present, the words often overlapping but being perfectly legible to all listening. “It, like the war it’s a part of, ends today. I have chosen you to be the emissaries of this message; herald in a new era of peace and unity.”
“Why?” Silus averted their gaze. “Why make peace now, we’re winning!”
The Paragon’s light intensified. “There are no winners.” The grandeur of their voice was lost for a moment as they delivered the declaration. Only Lore’s voice remained. A moments silence stretched before they spoke again. “Darker days yet lie for Quatarr and for this universe. There is strength in unity, wisdom in alliance. It is not just my will but that of almost every soldier on this field.” The Paragon’s eyes and hands took on a blue glow; their hands rose and with it, a forest of pale blue spectres populated the planes around them, their voices erupted, all begging for peace, to go home or to be safe. “Allow the dead the solace of their final requests.” The once orange sands looked as lush as some of Earth’s finest rainforests. Lore, Char and Sha’tara’s hearts sank.
Sha’tara was the first to respond, plunging their staff into the sands before backing away and bowing their head.
“Heddag Yw Diwrnzte Olag.” They said in stilted Quatarrian.
The thud of two arm cannons colliding as they made contact with Sha’tara’s staff turned their attention east. “Today is the last day.” They returned in equally stilted English.
The second bubble popped, returning them to the battlefield, The Paragon nowhere to be seen. From a distance they watched and waited. An hour later and the Tempora field was gone. The Paragon separated. One became two.
“Where’s Char?” Lore’s eye hadn’t fully adjusted and was still somewhat damp but they knew she was missing. They dried it off then turned to face Time’s orb.
“I have returned her to the past.” Time’s voice was quieter than usual. “She still needs to be there for the last day.”
“So… That’s it? The war’s over?” Lore looked down on the battlefield. “I remember it ending quickly but the memories I was given seemed to skim over that detail.”
“The war has been winding down on the rest of the planet for the best part of two years. There are still the occasional petty skirmish but nothing this big. They’ve been looking for an excuse to call time so I came.” Time took its original form, stretching and folding their way out of the sphere. “When a god tells you to stop, you stop.” It paused. “Sure, the war doesn’t end immediately, far from it. For the next month or so it’s going to be a nightmare of negotiations and rogue agents but it will end. Then of course there’s the Temporal Sciences Guild but I think you’ve got a plan for that so…” It trailed off. “The only thing that matters is that it worked.”
“Now what?” Lore looked around. “I suppose I could meet up with Sha’tara. Wouldn’t exactly be paradoxical would it.” They shrugged.
Time bounced its head from shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t suppose it would.” It continued, making strange noises as it thought. “Yes. Go with them. Your friends will be with you shortly.” It paused. “Actually, your time would be better served away from the war now.” It looked around then span and pointed in the opposite direction to the first city. “There’s a small commune that way about… a bit away. Unlike the East and West, they won’t be warned about The Temporal Sciences Guild.”
“Can I have some more exact co-ordinates?” Lore looked at Time expectantly.
“You already have them.” It nodded at their Breacher. “When our paths next cross.” Time faded away, leaving them alone. Lore looked down to their Breacher. A new string of numbers had been inputted already. They took one last look over the battlefield before vanishing into a flash of white.

They had barely a nanosecond to react but thankfully, their entrance did most of the work. It was almost as if they hadn’t moved; going from one rocky hillside to another, Lore tried to gain an understanding of their new environment. They quickly learnt they weren’t alone. A creature nearly thrice their height and four times their mass staggered away from them, stunned by the sudden flash; a Quatarrian cowered behind them. Seeing their window of opportunity, the Quatarrian scrambled to their feet then sprinted as far and as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Unsure of their eventual destination, Lore still thought it was in their best interests to follow. Together they ran and as they did, the landscape grew more and more hostile until the hills forced them down into the valley; eventually, they could go no further. Ahead, an avalanche had blocked off their escape but that didn’t seem to matter to the Quatarrian. They continued to run, speeding up as they approached the rockfall; they leapt into the wall then through it. Lore stopped, the creature not too far behind. They pressed their hand to the rock face. It was colder than the rest of its surroundings and prolonged contact made their fingers begin to tingle. They gave it a quick scan only for their Breacher to conclude that the wall was only a metre or so thick and there were several small, but covered, holes hidden across its surface. Seeing no alternative, they Breached through into the cavity; they found themselves stunned by their surroundings.

An oasis. A crystal clear pool sat in the centre of a small, tented village. Lore and their Breacher couldn’t comprehend the impossibility of the space; neither knew how such a space could exist. Although they were in the shade, the village basked in the light of the suns; they were in a cave with an enormous, natural skylight carved out of the ceiling. It didn’t make sense; the nearly cubic kilometre cave housed within a few metres of rock.
Then it hit them. “Dimensional projectors…” They sighed to themselves.
Lore started towards the village only for their journey to be cut short a mere five steps in. The rock beneath their left foot became liquid and drowned them before solidifying once again. An alarm was raised. Within moments, the villager’s watch had descended. A handful of farmers surrounded them, brandishing all manner of farming implements in their general direction. Lore tried to struggle at first but soon stopped. They slowly raised their hands in surrender. One of the farmers approached them, patted their jacket and trousers down then backed away. Stone became liquid again and their foot was released.
“Thank you.” Lore bowed their head. “I’m sorry to Breach in unexpectedly but I think I was supposed to be looking for you and your people.” Silence. The awkwardness of the interaction drew their attention to themselves; their necklace was beginning to dig into their collar. Slowly, they moved their hands up to their neck to remove it. As soon as the medallion caught the sun’s light, the closest farmer to them dropped to their knees. Lore stared at them before mirroring the action. The kneeling Quatarrian scowled prompting Lore to return to their standing position. They turned to address any of the other guards but once each saw the necklace, they too dropped to the floor. “What’s going on?” Then they considered the obvious answer. “You don’t speak English do you…” They shook their head. They stood there, surrounded by kneeling farmers, unsure of what to do next; they wracked their brain for any Quatarrian phrases that would serve them well but none came. They hoped for some kind of divine intervention, a set of white footprints or just the right thing to say but again, nothing came. Then it did. “Sha’tara.” They pointed at themselves. “Sha’tara.” Lore repeated. The farmer that frisked them rose but not fully as they kept their head slightly bowed as they approached. “My name is Sha’tara.”
“Sha’tara domme gydit mir.” They said before gently moving their hand to take Lore’s wrist. They waited for Lore’s approval before making contact. The other farmers followed at a respectable distance behind them as they led them to their village.