Consciousness returned like the lifting of a slowly rising veil of mist. Finis's eyelids were heavy, as if lead had been poured over them. When he forced them open with difficulty, the first thing he saw was an alien sky. It was a sight he had never witnessed on Earth. The firmament shone in two intersecting, distinct tones. On the eastern horizon, a sphere akin to the sun rose in orange hues, while in the west hung a silvery body, much like a moon but far larger. The light of the two created a strange twilight dance in the atmosphere, painting everything in tones both warm and cold.
Finis tried to push himself up, pressing his hands against the ground. The surface he touched was not the familiar asphalt or concrete, but a damp, moss-covered stone. He took a deep breath. The air filling his lungs was completely different from Earth's exhaust-laden, dusty atmosphere. Here, the air seemed charged with invisible energy; with every breath, a faint tingling spread through his body, a vitality seeping into his very cells.
However, the real shock came when he looked at his hands.
His hands—calloused, cracked, and ingrained with deep dirt from years of portering—were gone. In their place were smooth, pale-skinned, slender-fingered hands. Even his nails appeared clean and neatly trimmed. Panic rising, he pulled up his sleeves. The thick, dark hair on his forearms had vanished, replaced by fine, pure white down. His breathing quickened. He reached up to his head. Instead of matted, dirty hair, his fingers touched silky soft, long, and perfectly straight white strands.
"What... what happened to me?"
Even his voice had changed. The hoarse, weary tone was gone, replaced by a clearer, younger timbre. He scrambled to his feet. He struggled to find his balance because he was much taller than he was used to. His world spun for a moment. Nearby, he spotted a small, clear puddle of water gathered among the stones. He dropped to his knees and leaned over.
The reflection in the water belonged to a stranger.
Pure white, straight hair falling to his shoulders. Eyebrows and lashes the same snowy white. Pale, almost porcelain skin. And the eyes... The dull, tired brown eyes that had looked back at him for years were gone, replaced by piercing ocean-blue eyes that seemed almost luminous. His facial features were the same, but with these alterations, he had become unrecognizable. He was no longer the weary porter Finis, nor the orphanage's abandoned child. He was a brand new, alien being.
It took minutes for the shock to subside. He sat there by the puddle, motionless. His first thought was that this must be a dream. But the sound of his own breathing, the scent of the earth, the coolness of the air against his skin—it was all too real to be a dream. The fissure... The unbearable pain... And now this foreign body. It was all real.
When he stood up, he felt an unusual lightness in his body. The invisible burden he had carried on his back for years was gone. His muscles were strong but not tense; they were supple and vigorous. It was as if he had been reset to factory settings, but this time remanufactured as a far superior model.
He looked around. He was in a forest clearing. The trees resembled those on Earth, but the colors of their leaves were different. Some were purple, some orange, and some possessed a silvery shimmer. Tiny creatures, like fireflies but glowing even in the daylight, flitted through the air. A scaly creature, the size of a rabbit but with six legs, darted out from the underbrush and disappeared from sight.
Finis began walking, unsure of where to go. His clothes were still from Earth; a tattered t-shirt and old jeans. In this strange forest, he must have looked completely out of place in such attire. After walking for about an hour, a path emerged from among the trees. The trail seemed frequently used. There were marks in the dirt resembling horseshoes but much wider, along with small claw prints and regularly spaced human footprints.
He followed the path. Half an hour later, he saw a thin column of smoke rising through the trees. It smelled of woodsmoke and cooking food. His stomach rumbled. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal. He approached cautiously.
In a clearing, a camp had been set up next to a horse-drawn cart. But it was the camp's occupants that truly astonished Finis. Three figures sat around the fire. The first was a stocky, broad-shouldered being with a long beard, standing about a meter and a half tall. A dwarf. He recognized him instantly. The figure matched the descriptions in the worn fantasy novels he had found in the orphanage library exactly. He had thick arms, a leather apron, and a small hatchet hanging from his belt.
The second was an elf, nearly as tall as Finis, slender, with pointed ears. His long, silver hair was braided back. He wore an elegant suit of leather armor in shades of green and brown. A finely crafted bow was slung across his back. His eyes were the brightest emerald green Finis had ever seen.
The third appeared to be an ordinary human. A dark-skinned, black-haired, middle-aged man. He wore a weathered traveler's cloak and sturdy leather boots. In his hand, he held a long spit on which he was roasting a rabbit over the fire.
As Finis watched them from the bushes, the elf suddenly raised his head and looked directly toward his hiding spot. His emerald eyes narrowed.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" the elf said. His voice was melodic but sharp. In an instant, all three were on their feet. The dwarf grasped his hatchet, and the human half-drew the sword at his belt.
Realizing he had no other choice, Finis raised his hands and slowly stepped out from behind the bushes. "Don't attack! I... I'm lost."
The three strangers studied Finis from head to toe. The elf's eyes lingered especially on Finis's stark white hair and pale skin. His brow furrowed slightly.
"What in the world are you?" asked the dwarf in a thick, rumbling voice. "You look human, but your skin's like chalk. So is your hair. Are you sick?"
"I... I'm not sure," Finis answered honestly. "I don't even know where I am. I saw... some kind of light, and then I found myself here, in this forest."
The human traveler slid his sword back into its sheath. His eyes held curiosity and a measure of caution. "What's your name?"
"Finis. Finis Ferrum."
"Ferrum?" The dwarf's eyes lit up. "That means 'iron' in one of the ancient tongues. An interesting name."
The elf tilted his head slightly. "I am Liriel. This dwarven friend of ours is Torin Hammerback. Our human companion is Kael. We are traveling merchants on the trade route from Serinwood in the east to Silver Harbor in the west. Where do you hail from, Finis Ferrum? What race are you? Which city?"
Finis didn't know how to answer. If he said he came from Earth, they'd think he was mad. Perhaps he really had gone insane. But he was here now, and these people—or beings—were not hostile to him, for the moment.
"I... I come from very far away," he finally said. "Very, very far away. And my race... I'm just a human. At least, I was."
Torin grunted. "What do you mean 'was'? Humans don't look like this. You're not delicate like an elf nor sturdy like a dwarf. Not green like an orc nor ugly like a goblin. You're a peculiar thing."
Kael extended the spit back over the fire. "You look hungry, Finis Ferrum. Come, sit. We'll share food. Then you can tell your tale. In these lands, on the border of the Hegemony, turning one's back on a hungry soul brings ill luck."
Finis nodded gratefully and sat by the fire. As he ate the warm meat Kael handed him, he wondered how his body would react to this new world's food. He chewed the first bite. It tasted like rabbit, but sweeter, more aromatic. His stomach accepted it gratefully.
During the meal, Liriel and Torin gave him basic information about this world. It was called Eterra. It was filled with seven great kingdoms, countless city-states, and unexplored wild territories. Dragons reigned in the Jagged Mountains of the far east, orcs lived as nomadic tribes on the cold steppes of the north, elves guarded their magical cities in the ancient forests, dwarves forged iron deep within the mountains, and goblins and many other creatures shared these lands.
Finis listened like a spellbound child. The fantastic worlds he had read about in books were real, and he was facing them. Yet in the back of his mind, questions about his own transformation churned incessantly. What had the fissure done to him? Had it only changed his appearance, or was there more?
The answer came after the meal.
When Finis stood to add more wood to the fire, he stumbled and lost his balance. His hand struck the sharp edge of Torin's camp knife. A deep gash opened in his palm. It stung. Blood began to flow.
"Damnation! Be careful!" Torin shouted. "That's dwarf-make steel, cuts like a razor. Wait, let me get a bandage..."
But before Torin could finish his sentence, the wound on Finis's palm began to close on its own. Like the edges of lips coming together, the margins of the skin approached each other, fused, and within a few seconds, vanished completely. Only dried blood remained. No scar, no pain. Nothing.
The three travelers froze in astonishment. Liriel's emerald eyes widened. Torin's mouth hung agape. Kael made a hand gesture as if warding off evil.
"That's... That's impossible," Liriel whispered. "Such rapid healing... What magic is this? Which god's blessing?"
Finis stared at his own palm. His heart was pounding wildly. So the change was not limited to his outward appearance. During that agonizing journey, his body had undergone a much deeper, more fundamental transformation.
"I... I don't know," was all he could manage. His voice trembled. "I don't know."
Kael slowly sat down next to Finis. His eyes held both admiration and deep thought. "Ferrum... Iron. Perhaps your name is no coincidence. In this world, there are old legends told. Stories of beings who have existed since the beginning of time, who neither age nor sicken, whom no poison can touch..."
"Legends?" Liriel asked. "What are you talking about?"
Kael fixed his gaze on Finis's eyes. "Immortals. But their lineage is said to have died out ages ago. You, Finis Ferrum, are not of this world. We all understand that. But perhaps this world has transformed you into something of its own."
Finis looked at the dried blood on his palm, then up at the two different light sources in the sky. Fear, bewilderment, and a strange excitement mingled within him. On Earth, he was a nobody. A porter who carried burdens on his back, whom no one looked in the face. But here, in Eterra... Perhaps his fate was being rewritten.
"So what do I do now?" he asked quietly.
Torin stroked his thick beard. "If I were you, I'd keep that ability hidden, lad. Such things draw the greed of men—and other races. There'll be those who'd want to capture you, to study you, to use you, or worse."
Liriel nodded. "Torin is right. But at the same time... You must learn about this world. You need to know where you are, whom you might encounter, and the dangers. We are bound for Silver Harbor. It's a port city where all races live together, a center of trade and knowledge. Come with us. We will tell you about this world along the way."
Finis thought for a moment. Did he have another choice? It was impossible for him to survive alone in this alien world without any knowledge. These three travelers, for now at least, had extended a helping hand.
"I accept," he said. "But I will help you along the way. I can carry loads... or whatever is needed."
Torin laughed. "Portering? With those skinny arms? Never mind, the road is long. You'll learn in time."
That night, Finis Ferrum slept his first sleep in his new world. In his dream, his pure white hair billowed in the wind, and his blue eyes surveyed endless lands. Before him stretched mountains, forests, deserts, and seas. And a voice whispered from within the wind:
"Walk. See. Write. That is the only way to not be forgotten."
When he woke the next morning, he saw Kael holding out a blank leather-bound journal and a charcoal pencil.
"Every traveler should have a journal," Kael said with a smile. "Write what you see, what you hear, what you feel. Perhaps one day, there will be those who read your story."
Finis took the journal in his hands. With a sharp stone, he carved a single word into the cover: Ferrum.
And thus began the tale of the Immortal Wanderer.