Jordan jolted awake, on his feet immediately, hand darting out into summoning position because something was still wrong, something was out of the ordinary, but there were no immediate threats visible. He checked over the side of the observation post, saw nothing; checked the sky and found it reassuringly overcast-grey, like it always was. He remembered -- what did he remember? It was dreamlike, hazy, strange, and Ferros was alert in his mind and painfully distressed and relieved all at once.

Where were we?

I don't know.

There was still something wrong. When Jordan happened to glance down, he saw it: his shadow, transmuted into an armored shadow, a shadow with a sword. Excalibur, he thought in a rush of knowledge and memory, and felt Ferros's awed, submissive concurrence.

"Your have forgotten something. Memories. I borrowed those from you and now you have my word I will return them. Take these memories and remember their blessing. As long as you remember your path as a hero, I will be there."

Something happened, something like the gentle grip of a hand around his own, and then Jordan's shadow subsided back into his own shape. He stared at it, searching futilely for what he'd lost. No, not lost. Given up. He'd done it of his own free will, hunted his memory and self down through greyscale landscapes and taken it back, and then when Excalibur had asked, he'd offered up -- something. Something. He no longer knew what.

It would come back to him. He wasn't sure whether to dread that or anticipate it.

Distantly, across the island, alarms began to howl, and he jolted back to himself. He had to go and find out what was happening. Later, when he had time to look at Ferros, he would notice the chain twined around the talons that cradled the hammer's barrel, the ornate white lock that held them there. Now, though, there were other things to think about.

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