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February 1945

Winter was clinging with its icy claws to Europe, in an attempt to extend a little longer, but the war was over. Sorrow was in the air. In the ruined cities. In the exhausted faces of soldiers returning home and in the uncertainty of the survivors.

And in the center of it all, Shin and Lizbeth decided to finally move on.

Winter felt like mid-December in Runen, as Shin and Lizbeth said their goodbyes. There were no big speeches, no lofty promises. Just hugs, pats in the back and some dry banter to lighten the weight of departure. It wasn't as if they were going to disappear altogether, they were going to the UK—but no one asked where exactly they were going. They would meet up on the way for sure at some point.

Others had also left, ready to continue. Some found comfort in staying. Others, like them, needed to move on, to look for something beyond the echo of bullets and the shadows of the fallen. There were plans for the future of the feys, but that would have to be without them.

Shin and Lizbeth took advantage of a stable energy ley line that was passing through the island and would leave them near a place Shin wanted to go to pick up something. A surprise—he had said.

Lizbeth felt the pressure in her chest as they crossed the ley tunnel. It was like being sucked into a heartbeat of the earth, an ancient pulse that swallowed them up and spat them out somewhere else.

In the blink of an eye, the snow and stone walls were replaced by the humidity of the French air at dusk and the scent of wet grass. The transition was always a little violent, as if the world was out of whack for a second, before snapping back into place. Lizbeth took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and then, without turning back, they continued on their way.

It had rained that morning, and mud stuck to Lizbeth's boots as she followed him across the remains of what had once been an airfield. The wind howled through the skeletons of forgotten hangars and very old airships, and each step echoed in the silence of a world that, for the first time in years, was not at war.

Shin stopped in front of one of the massive metal doors. It was rusted, full of scars of time and neglect. Still, he pushed it effortlessly, and a deep creak filled the space. Inside, the air was thick with old oil and dust. In the dim afternoon light, Lizbeth saw the silhouette of a large vehicle and Shin explained:

"This is a 1937 Hunt-Housecar. An armored car." It was no mere vehicle. It was a rolling hut, still imposing despite years of inactivity.

Lizbeth ran her hand over the cold metal, noting the battle marks in the paint a little chipped in places. "Does it work?"

"It just needs a new battery," Shin replied, rapping his knuckles on the side of the vehicle. The sound echoed in the empty hangar. "And a little love."

She arched an eyebrow. "Love?"

Shin shrugged. "Anything that's still standing after a war deserves someone to take care of it."

"I count, right?"

"You need battery too?"

"Maybe..." she said, smiling.

Further back, among boxes covered with tarps and abandoned spare parts, there were other vehicles in worse shape, like mechanical ghosts of a wartime past that no longer had a reason to exist. But that one had survived. So had they.

"This was the surprise?"

Shin pursed his lips, and scratched his head. "It's not much, I know."

"It's not that, silly. I like it. You know I like vehicles. Where did you get it?"

"The university had a fleet of these. They were mobile expedition bases, designed to withstand crossfire and the weather. Out of five, there were only three left. I asked Wingate and he told me to keep it."

Lizbeth clicked her tongue, delighted. "They gave away a tank with wheels to a man who can kill with his bare hands. Sounds logical."

Shin smiled sideways. "The British and Americans paid us well. Not just for fighting, but for recovering artifacts and saving our own. We just have to do a little touch up painting when we get to England. That's when they'll give us new papers to move and money."

She sighed and looked at the vehicle again. "So what are we going to do with it now?"

Shin leaned against the metal, crossing his arms. "We'll leave. If we can get it tuned up, tomorrow. Sound good to you?"

Lizbeth looked at the horizon through the hangar door. "Then let's get it up and running."

Shin smiled a little. Lizbeth took off her backpack and pulled out her portable toolbox. Maybe before nightfall she could get some work done. Finally the skills she had acquired on the island visiting both hangars and workshops could be put to the test outside of the war.

"Are you sure about this?" Shin asked, leaning against the door of the huge vehicle.

Lizbeth looked at the RV, their new home.

Looked a bit like a pill bug, but made of steel and cutting-edge technology, a small mobile shelter designed to withstand not only war, but the dangers of a world where magic and science were together. But now that pill bug would be their home.

Home.

"I am," Lizbeth replied smiling. "I'm calling it Isopod-house."

Inside the vehicle, everything was almost brand new. The RV inside was not a simple vehicle made for war. It was a small fortress on wheels. Armored, with magic camouflage systems, albeit ruined, equipped with a modified engine that could travel long distances without stopping. It had a small kitchen, bed, bathroom, hidden weaponry and technology that was still a decade ahead of its time, when it had been manufactured at the request of the University.

Shin had lived in it before, during the missions in Africa and Europe he had done without Lizbeth.

Now it would be our home.

Lizbeth walked through the interior, feeling the softness of the fabrics, the smell of polished wood, metal and oil. It had some marks, scratches, and a few bullet holes, but it was enough. The vehicle was damaged as they were from the war, but it could be fixed.

A shelter. A sanctuary. A home.

That afternoon they ran it using the battery from another vehicle and tuned it up until Shin had to pull Lizbeth aside to rest. That night they slept in bed without worrying too much and the next morning they continued. Cleaning, dusting, removing some cobwebs, checking the tires. That day they continued in that hangar, but the next day they left.

They traveled from town to town, avoiding the big cities, staying off the radar of any faction.

Shin drove, Lizbeth watched the scenery out the window.

In the evenings they would cook outside over a campfire, then share the mutual warmth inside the vehicle, then talk in whispers. It was a journey of a few hundred kilometers, but they were taking their time to reach their destination with the ship that would take them to the other side. The date they had agreed upon was still not for another few days.

It felt very different now that the war was over. And she wondered if things would have gone differently.

If before the war, they could have been like any other couple, with mundane concerns and ordinary lives. But she doubted it. They were not ordinary. They never would be. On some nights they had nightmares of memories of the war, but now that they had each other they could at least comfort from those memories. Lizbeth then realized. How long had it been since she had dreamed of memories of her childhood in the last century? She hadn't realized, at some point she had stopped having such dreams.

The world felt strange in its new stillness. The towns they passed through had the air of a wounded animal: half-empty streets, wary faces, the shadow of war still hanging on lamp posts and shrapnel-scarred buildings. In every town they stopped in, Lizbeth felt the gaze of the people on them, assessing them, trying to decide if they were a threat or just two wandering souls looking for a place in a world that still didn't know how to move on.

The vehicle had old papers and the posts that were stopped showed that it was to be taken to port in a few days and not too many questions were asked at the sight of the bullet marks. A 1937 prototype vehicle, it was now listed as UK property and was to be returned. Lizbeth was the one who pretty much handled the conversations. In Shin's case he was conspicuous because of his face with Asian features. At least they had the disguise kit to conceal the pointy ears to draw less attention to themselves.

The nights were already different. In the solitude, the echoes of the war dissipated a little. The routine became comforting: cooking with what they had, lighting a dim lamp, sharing a leisurely conversation while the engine still retained the heat of the trip. Lizbeth sometimes thought of the days before all this. She wondered if Shin had ever been an ordinary man, if she would ever have been just a girl with an ordinary life in the last century. But the idea seemed absurd to her. If there had been no war, if they had not fought side by side in the darkness of Europe, would they ever have met? Perhaps. The feys were long-lived, some even immortal. Perhaps, in another time, in another era, they would have met anyway, although the scenario would have been different.

Through the radio system they sometimes communicated with Veluwe or Runen, trying to find out news.

The radio was their only connection to what they had left behind. From time to time, amidst the crackling static, they heard familiar voices from Veluwe or Runen. Brief messages, some news about the others, some broken laughter that reminded them that it had not all been tragedy. Sometimes they heard of small changes in the world, how Europe was trying to get back on its feet, how the Armitage initiative was still operating in the shadows, ensuring that nothing of what had happened would ever happen again. But outside of those broadcasts, the war slowly start felt distant, like a ghost that had not yet decided whether to disappear or continue to haunt their memories.

The U.S. Kingdom had not emerged from the war as the great victor that many imagined. It had won, yes, but the victory had come at a monstrous cost. The kingdom's coffers were nearly empty, drained by the massive expenditure on the atomic bomb program, on the mobilization of armies, on the war machine that had been necessary to turn the tide of the conflict. Now, with the war over, the country faced a new kind of battle: that of rebuilding itself, of finding a reason to remain the power it once aspired to be. But glory was an uncomfortable dress, when the stomach was empty.

And then there were the rumors. Lizbeth had heard them over the radio, in whispered conversations at way stations, in the scattered reports coming in from Veluwe and Runen. It was said that the U.S. Allied Army had captured several individuals with unusual skills and taken them across the ocean, but no longer as asylum. For what? No one knew for sure, but the uneasiness was there, creeping among those who could read between the lines. The same was said of certain German scientists, rescued in the shadows and transferred to American soil. Perhaps to redeem their sins with knowledge, perhaps to build something even more terrifying than the war had already shown. What was certain was that America's royal family would have to fight their own internal war before deciding what to do with them.

There was another conversation growing like a storm on the horizon. The so-called Tripartite Empire. A new bloc, formed by the United States, Mexico and Canada, a union that, they said, would serve to strengthen the three nations and stabilize the region. But the rumors were just that: words carried by the wind, speculation and fear disguised as certainty. No one knew if it would actually come to fruition, and if it did, no one knew what it would mean for the world. For Lizbeth and Shin, the only real concern was another: the feys and the occult world. Whispers of experiments on captive feys were too frequent to ignore. The war was supposed to be over, the hunt for their own had ceased, but history rarely ended where one wanted it to.

Luckily, in the UK things seemed to have taken a different turn. Their own were safe, at least for the time being. The unspoken agreement that protected them before the war seemed to be continuing under Margaret I. The feys, the humans with special abilities, the wizards and all those who existed in the shadows were returning to their role as myths, legends that only the gullible were still searching for. It was a return to hiding, to moving cautiously, to living on the margins of a world that had never fully accepted them. Lizbeth didn't know if it was a respite—or simply the calm before the next storm. But for now, that was enough.

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To Shin and Lizbeth, medals had never meant anything. They couldn't be publicly decorated, couldn't appear in the history books, couldn't receive the recognition that others would get. But at the end of the day, what was worth more: a piece of metal on their chest or the certainty that they could move on, carrying the memories of the war?

The money they would receive was compensation in a way. A discreet payment to both for services rendered to the British crown since before Margaret I assumed the throne in 1940, when the previous king, her brother, died. In the case of the United States, it was Thomas Theodore Norton who also gave financial compensation to Shin for his work helping the Initiative. A silent fortune that no one would question. They were not heroes, not officially. They were shadows who had done the work behind the scenes and could now vanish without a trace—if they wanted to.

Thus ended their journey through northern France. They had stayed off the main roads on the last leg, passing through villages that still bore the scars of war, where the eyes of the people reflected more weariness than hope. There were ruins, but also reconstruction. On more than one occasion they stopped to help with some simple task before leaving. It was like watching the world learn to breathe again. And in the midst of it all, the two of them, moving like nomads, unhurried, but without roots. At some point, the landscape changed as they reached the coast. With special permission they left port, aboard a Royal Navy LST. The French lands were left behind, and the southeast of England stretched out before them.

They entered the United Kingdom without trouble, or major announcements. On arrival at Plymouth they were met by the special envoy, who handed them the money and papers for both and the vehicle.

Officially, Shin was now Sheen Smith, of Chinese descent, but naturalized in the United States, until he migrated to the UK in 1937, and then married Lizbeth Londonderry in 1939. A young married couple who had done their share in the war working abroad. She, in her case, had been a worker linked to the Bletchley Park Foreign Office Services, while he was a soldier in the Eighth Army—where he enlisted in 1940. They looked too young to say that they had been married for five years, but at least the scars on Shin's hands would do for that. They could alternate between different jobs that would justify the constant movement in front of normal people. At least that would serve as a cover for three or four years.

The envoy also gave them the briefcases with the new disguises to hide their ears a bit and another one with clothes and hats and caps. The vehicle obtained a special permit that was signed by the royal house and the offices of the Major Command. They would have no problems if they were stopped and showed the papers that were prepared for them—as long as they didn't screw up the false information they had to learn to give to civilians. They were just a marriage who met again after the war, with papers that no one would question too much, if they knew what was good for them.

To Shin's surprise, he came across a box of Romeo and Juliet cigars and a note of ¨Good Work. Go rest now¨, from a certain character he knew quite well.

That and the ration books completed the luggage. They bought a few days' worth of groceries and the first item Lizbeth splurged on, besides new clothes, was something she saw in a shop window that caught her eye. A sort of stuffed animal of a potato wearing a soldier's helmet and carrying a cigarette. It reminded her of Shin. He didn't say anything, just looked at her in confusion and touched his face. They also bought the necessary things to make the isopod house more comfortable, a new mattress, sheets, and some spare parts for the kitchenette.

In those days Shin also took her to meet one of the magicians who had also done his service, although he was now in a deplorable state. He was Aleister Crowley. A wiry old man who was now spending his last days alone in a nursing home. It gave Lizbeth a strange sensation to look at him, it seemed that he was always plotting something with those youthful eyes in a decrepit body. The place where the old magician lived gave her the feeling that there was someone else invisible watching them. They did not take long and returned to the inn where they were staying. They waited a couple of days, while in an army workshop they did some body work to cover the exterior damage of the vehicle and make it ready.

London was a few hours away, but that didn't matter. The important thing was that they had arrived. And with that, a new question hung in the cold air: What now?

The UK was not a random destination. For Shin, the reason was Lizbeth. Legends said that feys didn't just appear in one place for no reason. There was a pattern, a connection to the place they came to. And though Lizbeth couldn't remember everything—nor could she say it, Shin sensed that her origin was tied to there. Perhaps in Londonderry they would find a piece of the puzzle they were still missing. But they would not take the shortest route. No, they needed a long route. A journey that might awaken something in her, an echo of a past buried under years of captivity and war. She was a little nervous to ask, but Shin told her he didn't mind. They had all the time in the world. He seemed really happy to have her by his side, even though he was still a bit worried.

So they began their journey across the country. First Canterbury. From there, London. They couldn't avoid the capital if they wanted to get around easily, though neither of them intended to stay any longer than necessary.

Next would come Oxford, a stop along the way that had less to do with Lizbeth, and more to do with another reason for both.

Gehirn.

That boy Shin had rescued years ago, an experiment in the Nazi war machine, was now part of an occult study team at the university. What were they looking for? They didn't understand him very well given what happened to him and the other children, he should have wanted to stay away from that kind of subject completely.Why had someone like him, with his sharp brain, immersed himself in such subjects?

Apparently it was something they had been working on for a year, and it involved something Gehirn had seen when the Nazis experimented on him. Unfortunately, efforts to replicate the conditions were not satisfactory. According to Gehirn, and the research team, he had seen something the Nazis had called an Akashic record.

Gehirn had settled in quite well to life in the UK. But Shin could see that he had not grown at all—even though he must have been twelve or thirteen years old by now. Apparently those experiments had left him with some after-effects, and Gehirn himself was doubtful that he would grow any more.

In the time they spent with Gehirn and his companions, both began to notice the sudden change in their palates, something that had already been noticeable when they arrived. While they could not say that they had gone hungry during their time deployed, it was not as if they had indulged in a life of feasting. The food tasted different. Especially the sweets, milk and eggs.

The farm animals on Runen Island had provided them with food, but there were differences in taste. The milk had a better taste and texture now. That may well have been because the Runen cows and goats were raised on grass and moss, quite different from the diet in the UK, where the climate was much better in that respect. Despite this, the goat cheese still tasted better in Runen, Lizbeth determined, as did the eggs. Not so with sugar, which for them in particular had become scarce and they used to sweeten things with honey from the hives that had to be extremely careful in Runen—given the cold and windy weather conditions.

Fruits and vegetables also tasted much better now, although Shin continued to miss bananas. Runen's climate was not very conducive to some types of crops, fruits and vegetables, and fertilizer was not plentiful at the time, given its use in the UK and U.S. for agricultural matter and explosives manufacture. Programs such as Victory Garden and Dig for Victory had been popularly implemented during the war because of rationing issues, but there was still the slogan that nowhere cultivated as well as in the UK, and at the same time no one prepared meals any worse. Still, Shin and Lizbeth had to admit that in that aspect the flavor was better. They both cooked quite well, so the meals were even better.

Over the last few years they had grown accustomed to battle rations when on missions, and had become so used to it that the change in diet was noticeable, and now cooking had become such an art that they took turns one day he and one day she preparing new recipes. Shin was quite given to preparing Russian dishes, something he had tried in Runen, but now the flavor was very different. Lizbeth in her case had learned what she had been taught in the kitchen on the island but, little by little, tried new recipes. Unfortunately, on one such occasion, she almost caused a mass death by choosing the wrong mushrooms. To the good fortune of the others—and the bad fortune of Shin—only one person was the fatal victim, although he came back to life a few seconds later.

Tea had also become a pleasure for her and Shin, even though it was still very much on ration and was the most consumed beverage. It was as hard to separate a British man from his tea, as a Russian from kvass.

And so, between that routine of tranquility and new friendships, winter in Oxford slipped slowly into spring, leaving behind cold mornings and evenings shrouded in a veil of mist. Lizbeth and Shin had stayed in the city for two months, allowing normalcy to settle into their lives. However, a sense of the transient enveloped them. In April they said goodbye to Gehirn to continue their journey.

Eventually, they left the old streets of Oxford behind and set out for Wales.

Shin would have continued a little further west, when something brought them to a halt just a day and a half into the journey. The green countryside in a gentle drizzle that afternoon made her quite happy, although she was still looking forward to seeing the sea. In spite of the drizzle, the sun was peeking its last rays between wispy clouds, painting the countryside with warm colors and ephemeral rainbows.

The road meandered between green-covered hills and wild lavender fields, until something inside Lizbeth stirred strongly. It was not a thought, not an entirely conscious memory at first, but a deep, visceral feeling. Her eyes widened as she saw a landscape emerging from within her most buried memories. It belonged to the world she had seen in her dreams. She had no doubt about it. It was there! The memory was a haze but... yes, it was that place! It felt too familiar.

"Shin, stop!!!" she said urgently. Shin was surprised. He had stopped not long ago.

"Do you want to go to the quarters?"

"Shin... stop, please."

"Sure. But what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

"Stop the car!"

Shin was even more surprised, but that tone alerted him. Her voice was cracking. The vehicle slid toward the side with a controlled braking. Before Shin could ask, Lizbeth had already opened the door and stepped out.

"Liz, what-?"

She didn't hear him. Her footsteps sank into the drizzle-damp grass as she jogged inland, her gaze fixed on the meadow. The smell of earth and vegetation penetrated her lungs even more. Her breathing became erratic.

"Hey, wait!"

Shin's voice sounded distant. The wind the only thing that filled her ears and the fine raindrops wetting her face. Lizbeth came to a screeching halt in the middle of the meadow and looked around circling over herself at the nearby hills. Her legs were shaking and her eyes were burning.

This place…

A knot tightened in her throat. The humid air became heavy, as if the past was trying to seep into her skin. Her hands clutched at the fabric of her coat and the flowered one-piece dress she wore. Shin finally caught up to her with long strides "What did you see?"

"Nothing.... ."

The silence was broken by a sob. One she didn't even know she was holding back.

Her footsteps were light on the damp grass, as if the meadow itself was calling her. Then she ran without a clear direction towards a nearby hill with Shin behind her. As she stopped, the air became thick in her throat.

The feeling of being home hit her with such force that her body reacted before her mind. Tears welled in her eyes, rolling down her face with the weight of a truth she couldn't say out loud. She knew that place. She had been there before, walking hand in hand with two people, other children's laughter floating in the wind.

That countryside. The hills. The smell of the rain. The earth. The wind.

It could have been almost a century that she had been there.

Somewhere in that place called the Brecon Beacons had been her home as a child.

The last sign they had passed indicated that the next town was a few miles away, called Crickbyrn.

But the memory was forbidden. She couldn't say it, couldn't even allow herself to think it clearly out loud, because the fey couldn't remember their past lives. The very idea terrified her. And yet there she was, standing in a corner of her own history, crying for something only her heart could recognize.

"Friday..." Shin approached with firm, but unhurried steps.

He had called her by her secret name and the meaning of her name justly hid in that place. In the star that shone at dusk—her father's favorite—and for which she had chosen that name as her secret name. From those hills, on clear nights, it was possible to see some of the best skies in all of Great Britain. That must have been the reason her father had wanted to go there to live and study the stars.

Lizbeth was trembling. Her shoulders were shaking with every breath, and her hands were clasped over her chest. She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't. She knew that if she even looked at him she would tell him everything and that could be the end of her life.

He grabbed her shoulders gently and looked at her "Hey...tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head "I can't…"

The wind whistled through the hills. Her tears rolled silently, fudging with the raindrops and falling on the grass. She didn't feel cold, it was the emotion that made her whole body feel brittle.

Her legs overcame her and she collapsed to her knees on the grass, with Shin holding her, as he hugged her.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything. Don't say it."

Lizbeth sobbed. "I'm sorry. I can't, Ori."

Shin exhaled slowly. Just standing there holding her. He let her cry, letting the weight of whatever she had discovered wash through her uninterrupted. He could do nothing else in that situation, but comfort her. He knew that a spring had just been activated inside her in that place.

"This place... is this place," he said, as he rubbed her back and looked out over the countryside. Lizbeth pressed her lips together. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to scream it out, but she couldn't. Her throat closed up.

"You don't have to say it. Just tell me if you want to stay here a little longer."

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her coat.

"Then we'll stay, love."

Shin took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders while her eyes were still lost in something he couldn't even see.

He didn't ask more. He didn't insist. He just stayed by her side.

And that was enough.

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