"Now, dear child," she said with a smile, "Erinn awaits."
~Mabinogi Tales~ Chapter I- Ranel Alistair (Death is nothing, here.)
2453 A.D., London, England
All of London was ablaze. They didn't know when the bombings had started, they just did, and they started right near Big Ben, where Ranel Alistair was with his younger sister, Riné.
As they'd been taughyt, Ranel grabbed the child up and ran toward Buckingham Palace, so he could take Riné to the shelter, then try and stop the fires with the other men.
"Ranel Alistair!" A megaphone-enhanced voice shouted, up from one of the menacling black helicopters that circled the city, their bright spotlights piercing through the fires. "You are under arrest for crimes against the city of London! The entire, city, including yourself and the inhabitants, must removed as an act of cleansing in result of your crime!"
The voice was young, Arabian, male. Ranel recognized the armored uniform, though; sleek. Black. Federation.
They knew.
"Riné, run," he whispered to the child, setting her down in the streets.
"Are you resisting arrest, Ranel Alistair?" the voice asked, and he looked up at the armored Arabian, though his words were drowned out by the whistle of a missile heading towards him, the Federation officer, and his tiny ten-year old sister...
-----
There was a white heat, then a cool breeze. Silence. Sand. And another voice.
"Are you awake, Ranel?"
A woman hovered above him, smiling as her fingertips gently brushed his temple. "Ranel... I'm Nao. I will send you to Erinn, where death cannot touch you, and the gods will keep you in their eternal prayers."
"Wait..." Ranel sat up, her eyes fixed upon him. "What happened to London? To my friends? Oh, lord, what happened to Riné?!"
"Hush, now," She commanded, her tone suddenly stern. "I could only save the two that are destined. You, Ranel Alistair, and Adalia Al-Bashed."
Adalia? That was a woman's name.
"Now, go into Erinn, Ranel. Go home."
And before he could question her, everything was white, and a sharp pain overtook his spine and arm as he realized that he'd hit the ground, wearing unfamiliar clothes and hearing unfamiliar sounds. Though, he turned his face into the cool mound of dirt and was glad to find that, at least, that smelled the same.
Opening his eyes, he sorely looked around and saw that, wherever he was, it was nice; everything smelled fresh and sounded quiet, and was unsurprisingly primitive. There was a familiarity, though, to this tiny village. The name of it was almost on his lips, burning on his tongue...
"Excuse me, but you've landed on my sword." Yet another unfamiliar voice. However, looking down, he groaned at the sight of the blade impaling his arm, and he laughed dryly.
"I guess this is my welcome to Tir Chonaill."
