When the Hangul became too difficult to study, Hrafn decided to pour himself over the star and solar charts that Haneul had acquired in books or printed from databases. Some combinations of Hangul were complicated but he really only needed to see the placements of the planets and the stars to figure out their rotational direction. To see  if there were any familiar patterns in outlying nebulas, galaxies and the like. He had first hand experience of what these all looked like in his travels. Something, anything, should have been identifiable just at a glance based on shape, star population—he’d even settle for atmospheric or emittance color.

But even something that should’ve been familiar like interplanetary routes or star placements, some of his fortes, were nothing more than incoherent compilations of distant stars. 

His findings revealed precious few facts. 

Fact one was that he no longer existed in his galaxy. The sun that Earth revolved around  was a rare young sun—something that many of Bjarndyr’s neighboring star systems did not have. His theory proved that most stars and star paths, which human’s called these constellations, were completely unfamiliar to him. Some existed where they shouldn’t and others were so clustered, he couldn’t tell where he should begin mapping their trails. It felt almost as if he were staring at the stars from a mirror or from the opposite side of the sky. Things should have been familiar, yet they were all backwards as though the cosmos had turned inwards on itself.

This brought him to believe that this galaxy, and by default this sun system, were relatively young compared to others he had been to. Merchants often told tales of sailing far from the home planets and from Bjarndyr’s light. They had traded with various other races and species in a middle-aged yellow sun’s orbit—all beyond his own galaxy. He wondered if that would be the future of Earth’s planetary system.

He wondered if, based on the overall structure and age of Earth’s home galaxy, his was one of the dwarfs caught in the gravitational pull of the Milky Way’s arms. But then this provided more questions than answers. 

If his guesses were correct, then that would mean that the accidental coordinate lock from the Star Warp not only sent him thousands of light years within moments, but also sent him into the past of this star system. If merchant accounts were not about an intergalactic yellow sun but really and truly about Earth’s star system, then it meant they only traded with worlds that could return Star Warp. It would be the only way for the merchant ships to fly back and forth in a timely manner. That would also mean it’d be a place amiable to off-world species. As his presence initially stunned Haneul and the others, then he could presume humans of this planet had yet to meet others like him. The “outer worldly”. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Time travel.

On a small scale, but traveling back and forth through time to make up the difference between the sun systems. The Star Warps on Meotl and Bjarnstar were designated for interplanetary travel. Distance-wise, the furthest they were supposed to transport was one of their worlds revolving around Bjarndyr. If anyone were to travel further, they would need to go to an Observatory where they could access a higher powered teleport—merchants often used these to travel to other star systems. Planetary Star Warps should not have the capability to bend enough space and time to send them to another sun system and certainly not another galaxy. 

What a mess.

Did the council realize this error? Or rather, had they figured out the Star Warp’s true potential by now? If time travel really worked the way he feared it did, the council could have already sent spies the minute he’d crash landed, what was a few mere rotations of this world if they could travel to any point in the planet’s lifetime?

Hrafn’s stomach churned.

A knock at the front door suddenly reeled him back. It wasn’t until it clicked open that he jumped into action—slinking from Haneul’s study into the hall. He pressed against the wall, wings furled tight, and prepared to attack should the oncomer not be his host. Despite the rigid stillness of his body, his ears flickered as he flexed his claws. The door closed quickly. The light and recognizable scent of Ha-Rin filtered into the penthouse. He relaxed slightly, his body leaning forward as he tried to detect the oncomer.

Her hesitant and quick call of “Hrafn?” only confirmed it. 

Immediately, he chimed out an affirmation—hurrying out to greet her…only to be rudely interrupted by Charles who tackled her first. The quadruped literally launched itself at her with a barreling playful attack. This promptly ended up with her sprawled on the floor.

“Alright, alright—hey! You spoiled baby, down already.” She laughed out, shoving his snout aside as he pranced around her. 

Ha-Rin seemed to struggle due to Charles’ over-exuberance, so Hrafn reached out a hand now that he’d approached her. A moment passed and then two as Ha-Rin gazed at him with wide eyes. He realized that perhaps while he and Haneul were at a level where they could identify each other’s intentions, he and Ha-Rin were not. A flick of her eyes towards the sharp claws at the ends of his fingers told her that was probably the case. However, after a third beat, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her up. 

“I’ll help,” he offered a bit too late after the fact. 

She laughed and pulled her hand away slowly—as if trying to prove she was not recoiling. “I appreciate it.”

“Appreciate?” He asked, the word not necessarily long, but one he was not quite accustomed to yet. 

“It’s a fancy way of saying thank you.” She offered, shooing away Charles as he pranced happily around them. 

Hrafn nodded. “I’ll remember this.”

“You’re speaking quite well as it is,” hoisting the medical bag on her shoulder, she gestured over to the couch. “You probably shouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“I still have much to learn.”

“Look on the bright side, you and I can have a full conversation now.”

Confused, he stared at the lights in the ceiling before shifting his gaze outside—rain bearing clouds grazed the horizon. “The bright side of what, exactly?”

Hrafn sat on the couch while he agonizingly stretched the wing in the sling. Ha-Rin gently braced it as she began to unwrap it from the splints. Her touch felt stiff and light, as if she didn't really want to touch him. All the same, each movement was precise and practiced. 

“The bright side of the situation—it’s an expression,” she said, her hands supporting the bone that had begun its mend from the painful fracture. “It means that despite how things are, there’s something good you can acknowledge. In this case, you're quickly learning our language.”

He winced, wing flinching, as she placed new gauze along the closing laceration above the bone breakage. The skin was still tender and bruised, many of the feathers that had been damaged were either regrowing or missing. As embarrassing as a bald spot was on the wing, he knew that the feathers would eventually return. And under the deft work of Ha-Rin, he had no doubt that the plumage would at least grow. 

“Such a small ray of light,” he murmured.

The idea of never being able to fly again, once the feathers returned, hurt far more than he cared to admit. His main source of travel was aerial. Prior, he had not done much work grounded, nothing more than a couple stints on merchant ships and of course the farming season. It was far easier for him to fly himself to wherever he was needed. 

What would it mean not only for himself, but his title of Drottnari, if he were a land-bound king for a race that always took to the skies? 

“Your wing is looking better,” Ha-Rin tried.

Hrafn found he could not look at her. “Your care is valued.”

She frowned and poked his wound.

Much to his horror, he let out an undignified squawk.

“Considering I know hardly anything about your anatomy and have to base it off of teeny tiny Earth birds,” Ha-Rin sighed. “Your progress is very reassuring. There’s no sign of infection, that neither you nor I see, and the tissue is binding well.”

“For fighters, healing means either life or death,” Hrafn rested his hand on his shoulder, ignoring the shimmers of pain that pulsed into his back. “This is not the worst of my past pains.”

There was a pause in the air, and Charles came back around with a wagging tail and happy ears. The dog gently boofed its snout against Hrafn’s free hand. This was a signal that he had learned well in the past few weeks,  a need for attention. Smiling mirthlessly, he ran a clawed hand gently over the flat of Charles’ head and around the pointed ears. There was a happy bump of a wet nose along with the insistent huffing that meant more pets.

“You’ve had a hard life then,” Ha-Rin offered.

“Living is hard,” Hrafn responded, his brow furrowing. “But life here is warm, vibrant, and seemingly calm. Living here does not seem hard.”

“Not always, and for sure not everywhere.” She began to resplint the wing, holding their makeshift wood bars and tying them firmly with plain cloth straps. “And even here with this comfy life that Haneul lives, he and his father have paid their tithes. Haneul has paid for it with his own blood. And trust me, as much as he likes to pretend he’s confident, he’s no fighter. Well, not like you.”

This caught Hrafn’s attention. Haneul rarely talked about himself. Mostly because he seemed hesitant to expand on anything that seemed too complicated. But now…

“How?” He asked genuinely, leaning backward to look at Ha-Rin like an expectant hatchling. 

She tied his wing securely and sighed. Skirting around the side of the couch, she sat down beside him. While she gave him a wide berth, she was still close enough. 

“To the people here, Haneul and his father are super desirable. They have a lot of money and resources. When he was young, there were a lot who tried to use him against his father.”

Hrafn nearly interrupted, a snarl curling along his lip. In many senses he was far from human, but he didn’t have to be human to understand using someone against another. A vivid splash of Trunadur entered his vision before he blinked the visage away. 

“And there were several who did get him. They sent him overseas to America cause they thought it’d be safer…turns out it was worse for him without the close proximity of the Kim family resources.” Ha-Rin rested her hands on her knees and stared blankly. “By the time he’d met me, several things had been done to him from people who’d even gone so far to damage his image and his family. Horrible things. All to try and make a point…all to try and get power or money. It’s why he has such a huge security detail now…and why he keeps a weapon here at his home in case of another emergency.”

The clouds on the horizon darkened in their color and from what he could sense, Hrafn knew that a storm full of rain and electricity neared.

“War is terrible,” he murmured. “My people know nothing but fighting. It’s all a cycle. Suffering. Pain. Using others to win something, all for what?”

He could feel Ha-Rin’s stare on him. 

“But I do not wish such pain on anyone, no matter how large or small their battles. Not for my planet. Not for Haneul.”

She offered him a pitying glance. “Man, I thought Earth was bad. Life must suck on your world.”

Hrafn blinked in surprise. How did such a word fit as a response? “Suck?” 

“I’ll let Haneul explain that one to you,” Ha-Rin suddenly laughed, something genuine and bell-like.

He smiled. He liked the sound of laughter. After all the caution around him, he was pleased to see his caretaker trust him enough to express her happiness.

If only Haneul would laugh.

He’d yet to hear anything outside of an anxious chuckle.