Cat said goodbye to her friends and closed the door behind her.

She greeted her parents, who were watching television in the living room, told them she'd spent the afternoon playing board games with Mica and the others—which perhaps wasn't entirely a lie—and headed upstairs to her room.

There she went through her usual routine, the one her mother had drilled into her with such determination, though Cat had always considered it a waste of time. At least at first.

All the while she removed her makeup, brushed her hair, and got ready for bed, her thoughts remained fixed on the adventure.

"Was it just me, or is Sarah an incredible storyteller?" Mica asked a couple of blocks after they fled Tavern.

"So good my leg still hurts," Hugo replied. "One of my ribs too. Every time I touch it... Ugh."

"I don't know, but it was wonderful. It almost felt real!" Cat admitted excitedly.

After changing into her pajamas, she climbed into bed immediately.

That very morning she had been counting the hours until she could get home and keep playing

Final Fantasy XIII

. Now, she couldn't think of any game that could tempt her away from a full night's sleep. She felt exhausted.

When her head sank into the feather pillow, she tried to remember everything that had happened.

It wasn't easy.

Rather than details, she remembered feelings. The freedom of breathing the fresh air of an endless fantasy meadow. The thrill of fighting like the heroines she admired so much. The bow. Her aim. Fighting beside her friends. How good Mica looked in armor while fighting with...

She rolled over and buried her blushing face in the pillows. Even though no one could see her, she always felt embarrassed whenever she caught herself thinking like that.

As she reached for the blanket and pulled it over herself, she remembered the satisfying tension in her back as she drew the bow. The soreness in her fingertips from pulling the string. She could almost believe she really had blisters on her fingers.

And, trying to remember more, she drifted off to sleep.

Hugo opened the front door as quietly as he could, grateful that the tenants in the first-floor annex were arguing at the top of their lungs, as they did every night. He made his way down the dark hallway and hust before he reached his bedroom door, the hallway light came on.

His mother scolded him, as she did whenever he did just about anything. And, as she did whenever he did just about anything, she compared him to "good old Mica."

Since he no longer had any reason to sneak around, Hugo took the opportunity to head into the kitchen and make himself a sandwich while she lectured him.

The only difference this time was that she started crying when she mentioned the disappearances and how worried they had made her, followed by her usual,

"I couldn't bear to lose you too."

Hugo hugged her. He promised everything would be all right, even though he had no business making that promise.

They wished each other good night, and he went to his room.

He turned on his PlayStation 2 to see if he felt like playing something. In the end, he decided to put on a music CD instead. He couldn't focus on anything except thinking about that afternoon's adventure.

The first track from his favorite Pink Floyd album slowly filled the room while the blue square rotated across the gray screen. By the time the piano joined the synthesizer, his mind had already returned to the meadow where he remembered landing and breaking his leg.

Had it hurt? He had the feeling it had. In fact, every now and then he still felt something. But that wasn't possible.

"Are you seriously limping?" Cat asked before they reached her house, sounding almost annoyed. "I know it felt real, but, I mean..."

"If it had been real, you wouldn't even be able to walk," Mica said.

"She healed me, didn't she? Sarah. I remember this tingling feeling that made me open my eyes, and I felt good as new. Like I could've jumped right back in."

"I'm a little worried that you're talking as if you actually believe any of that happened."

"Says the one who's been bragging for the past twenty minutes about how well she shoots a bow."

"I mean the dice."

"Pure luck."

"Luck? I'd say knowing which attacks you can and can't land takes more skill than luck."

"There were dice," Mica said. Though he'd made a comment here and there, he'd been strangely quiet for the past several minutes.

"Well... obviously," Cat replied, frowning.

"Actually, I didn't remember that."

"Neither did I. That's weird," Hugo said. "I mean, I've been listening to Cat brag about her rolls, but... wait a second. Were you really talking about dice, Cat?"

"What else would I be talking about?" she replied, sounding more defensive than seemed normal. "Did you see me shooting arrows around?"

"Well... you're going to think I'm crazy, but..."

The drums rumbled together with the bass. Barely four minutes and fifty seconds later, he was already drifting off. That was it. He was tired.

Of course he hadn't seen Cat firing arrows into a small army of monsters. Just as he hadn't jumped eight meters into the air to fight a giant and Mica hadn't crossed a battlefield to save him from that beast. It was the exhaustion talking.

His brain was playing tricks on him, mixing reality with the fiction Sarah had told so convincingly. He set what remained of his sandwich on top of a plate from some previous dinner that was already sitting on his nightstand. Then he lay down and fell asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Mica rode the elevator upstairs, rehearsing the excuses he was going to give his mother for getting home so late. Without much success, of course.

His thoughts were a complete mess. One moment he felt like an unbeatable swordsman, the next he was back in the basement of a bar with people he barely knew.

He had always been a daydreamer. Always getting lost in fantasies, reliving stories or making up new ones. But what had happened that afternoon was something completely different. He just couldn't explain why.

Before he'd even had time to process it, a heavyset woman with a permanent scowl had come charging down the stairs, shouting curses at her daughter and her guests. Mica couldn't quite remember what she'd said, only that she was throwing them out.

Together they had rushed out of Tavern with the other two boys, the ones who called themselves Rogue and Cleric, and run several blocks before any of them had even thought to speak.

Hugo was the first to break the silence after the two strangers went their separate way.

"What just happened?"

"The obvious, I suppose," Cat answered. "I know I was excited to find out what the Adventurers' Group was all about, but we shouldn't have barged into that place like that. We're not even old enough to be inside a bar. Of course she'd be upset when she found out that..."

"That's not what I mean."

The elevator doors opened on the eighth floor.

Mica came back to himself. He didn't remember much else about the conversation with his friends on the way home. Nor did he remember many details about the adventure itself. Only the feelings.

How badly he wished it had been real. How badly he wished he could finally live an adventure. Especially one so extraordinary. So unreal. His mind drifted back to those feelings. They felt real. Especially the sensation of his weapon slicing through the flesh of his enemies. Of course, it wasn't really his weapon. He'd never even held a sword before, much less stabbed anyone.

He hurried down the hallway. The lecture waiting for him no longer seemed so important. He needed to get to his room. To his computer. He wanted to write.

The way Sarah had told the story—how she'd made everything feel so real—had inspired him.

He stepped into the apartment and just as expected, he was greeted with a lecture.

He didn't say much. Only that he'd been hanging out with Hugo and Cat and had lost track of time. His mother mentioned the disappearances, his father seemed more annoyed that he'd had to take Alexander out for a walk, one of his brothers said something to tease him and Mica barely heard any of it.

As soon as he could, he sat down at his computer. He opened the folder titled Legends, then the document named: Story v5 (1)(1) new changes (2).doc. Despite how exhausted he was, he began to write.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah watched the five of them run up the stairs, hiding the irritation she felt.

Without moving so much as an inch, she turned to look at her mother once they were alone.

"And then you tell me I need to make friends." She let every bit of her annoyance seep into her voice.

"Do you have to bring them into the bar at night for them to be your friends? Sarah, you're fifteen years old!"

"We're not in the bar." Sarah folded her arms. "We're in the basement of the bar. The place you always say belongs to me."

"It does belong to you, sweetheart." Her mother's tone softened. "But you're my daughter. You have to understand that I can't have underage strangers down here."

Her rigid posture melted almost immediately.

After Sarah father's death, she'd had to take over the bar. That meant leaving Sarah alone at home for much of the day and night when she was only nine years old, something she hadn't liked at all. Her solution had been to fix up the basement of the bar so Sarah could stay there instead.

It was in that damp, nearly abandoned place that Sarah had lived through the worst moments of her life. But as the grief slowly began to heal, she'd made the basement her own until it had become her favorite place. Even more than her bedroom, which she only used for sleeping. Sometimes.

One wall was lined with an almost countless number of books. Another held a television with video games, board games, and comic books. In one corner, pushed aside to leave room in the center for the visitors who had just fled, stood a long old table where she'd spent nearly her entire childhood playing every kind of game imaginable with her father.

Her mother knelt down with some effort and hugged her.

"I'm glad you're trying, Sarah. But you have to understand that..."

"I know, Mom." Sarah cut her off. She didn't return the hug.

Her mother stood, defeated by her daughter's indifference, and headed back upstairs to the bar. At the foot of the stairs, she stopped and turned around.

"All right, sweetheart. You win. You can invite your friends again. But do it in the afternoon, okay? They can't be down here once customers start coming in. All right?"

"Yes, Mom." Sarah forced a smile. "Thank you."

She felt relieved to have her mother's permission. Now she wouldn't have to feel guilty during the next training session. The one she'd already planned to hold in secret anyway.

At least not guilty from her mother. She couldn't say the same for the others. They still had no idea what she'd gotten them into. She thought back to the short session. It hadn't gone as well as it had with Tomás, Jacob, and...

She didn't want to remember that name. It hurt too much. She'd managed to make Tomás and Jacob forget. She could do nothing for herself.

Sarah pushed the thought aside and continued her assessment.

The group wasn't bad. She'd only intended to recruit Micheleangelo. Still, she couldn't say she regretted him bringing his friends. Dragoon was clumsy. Though perhaps that had been more her fault than his. Who picked Dragoon as their class? It wasn't a common class. It wasn't even an official one. She'd had to improvise, and she hadn't expected the first thing he'd do to be testing the jump.

Archer, on the other hand, was promising. Perhaps even more than Micheleangelo himself. And having another girl in the group was refreshing.

"Thy judgment doth not err. Remarkable is Archer's gift."

The voice echoed inside her mind. Old. Deep. Monotonous. Almost devoid of emotion.

"We'll see how she does in a more serious session," Sarah replied, speaking to the empty room.